Idioms!
by madame.alexandra
Summary: A series of one-shots chronicling Ziva David, a.k.a crazy ninja mossad chick, and her continuing struggles with the english language.
1. Early Bird Catches the Worm

_A/N: I know I'm not the only one who gets a huge kick out of Ziva butchering our cute little sayings. _

_Summary: A series of one-shots chronicling Ziva David, a.k.a crazy ninja mossad chick, and her continuing struggles with the english language. Ziva attempts idioms; confusion ensues. Team Antics; might even consider crack!fic. :]_

_The Idiom: The Early Bird Catches the Worm_

* * *

Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo gave his partner a pale, terrified look as she took a corner on two wheels, barely managing to avoid two mailboxes and a very adorable puppy as she blatantly ignored a stop sign.

He gulped theatrically, digging his nails into the upholstery of his seat as his crazy ninja Mossad chick continued to blast every one of America's traffic laws to smithereens.

"Ziva!" he squeaked, praying for his life.

She turned to look at him, a quizzical look on her face.

"KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD!" Tony roared in panic, flinching as she passed someone and barely made it back to their lane without a head-on collision.

Ziva's foot pressed on the gas again and the car shot forward, proving to Tony that it was indeed possible for Ziva's cute little red and black vehicle to break one hundred, though whether or not it could do it _safely_ was debatable.

"Slow _down_," Tony whimpered, slumping down in his seat like a kicked puppy. He flinched as he noticed the outside world seemed to have faded to nothing but a blur and bemoaned his plight.

"Do not be such a child," Ziva replied impatiently, gassing it through another red light.

"It's too early for this!"

"Early? Tony, it is oh-five-hundred," Ziva replied, as if she were informing him it was noon.

Tony groaned and gave her a moody glare, his stomach turning flip-flops. It was bad enough when she wrangled permission to drive out of Gibbs on the job; it was an entirely different thing when she picked his lock, barged into his bedroom, and dragged him out of bed on a Saturday morning!

He was supposed to be enjoying the American Movie Classics James Bond marathon today, but instead he was clinging to a leather seat for dear life while Little Miss Assassin attempted to single-handedly murder him and everyone in the general vicinity.

"Ziva! OLD LADY!" Tony bellowed, pointing madly.

Ziva swerved without flinching, driving the car up on a median in order to avoid the sweet old woman walking along her sidewalk. Swerving back to the road, she managed to pretty much lift the car off of the road completely.

Tony squealed like a little girl and Ziva smirked.

"It is not like I am torturing you," she said, rolling her eyes.

Tony gave her a disbelieving stare.

"I would rather kiss the Director in front of Gibbs than drive with you _ever again_!"

Ziva gave him a skeptical look, and Tony looked sheepish.

"Um, okay, No I wouldn't—_would you please watch the road, woman_!"

Ziva smiled smugly before she snapped her eyes back to the road and made another illegal move.

"Zeee-_vahhhh_, why did you drag me out of bed this early? Americans like sleep! Where are we going that's so freakin' important anyway?" Tony whined.

She hadn't said a word when she'd jerked all of his cozy blankets off of him and dumped his clothes on his head, ordering him to be outside in five minutes ready to go. She was all business, not even bothering to make a comment about him sleeping naked or the stuffed giraffe he had with him, for which he was eternally grateful

And hoped she didn't remember later.

"Starbucks begins serving their new Apple-Cinnamon Cider mocha at oh-six-hundred. I want one!"

Tony glared at her, whining as she floored it through the next two intersections at breakneck speed and turned sharply into the Starbucks parking lot, coming to the most abrupt stop Tony had ever experienced in his life. He'd never been fonder of seatbelts than at that moment as his prevented him from being tossed through the front windshield.

"ZIVA! Ease to a stop! Newton's first law! Inertia!" Tony yelped, his life flashing dramatically before his eyes.

Tony unbuckled his seatbelt with shaking hands and grumbled broodingly to himself. Ziva appeared suddenly at the window, tapping on it lightly and causing him to jump a mile. He hadn't even seen her get out of the car!

Glaring suspiciously, Tony opened his door and got out, rubbing the back of his neck as he felt whiplash settling in.

"Starbucks isn't open yet!" he yelled, slamming the door.

The parking lot was empty, except for a lone car behind the drive-thru. Ziva pointed to it matter-of-factly and grabbed his arm, marching purposefully towards the entrance and planting herself in front of it with Tony next to her.

"They will open in exactly seven and a half minutes," she said with the air of a woman who seriously knew her Starbucks hours.

"I don't get why you dragged me out here on a _Saturday_ morning at this _godforsaken_ hour to get a frilly, _prissy_, cheer-leader Apple-Cinnamon Cider mocha that you could have gotten any time _after_ oh-six-hundred," Tony snapped, looking down at her.

"The early bird kills the worm, my little Hairy Butt," Ziva chastised, a completely serious look on her face.

Tony broke into a grin, the horrific car experience and ungodly hour made completely acceptable by her utter seriousness in that faux-pas. Figures she would mess up that saying to somehow include the word 'kill'.

Smugly, he corrected her.

"Early bird _catches_ the worm, Ziva."

"That is what I meant. I do not want anyone's birds getting an Apple-Cinnamon Cider Mocha before me."

Tony smirked, deciding he could explain to her that there was no danger of any birds actually getting her precious mocha over a Starbucks muffin.

* * *

_xoxo  
Alexa_


	2. Cat that Caught the Canary

_The Idiom: The Cat that Caught the Canary__

* * *

_

Officer Ziva David smiled in amusement as she entered Abby's lab. Her mood was always elevated when she was around the rambunctious and slightly eccentric forensic scientist, and today was no exception.

Tony had been harassing her all morning, and she was grateful that Gibbs had ordered her to the lab to help Abby sort through the NCIS security videos in order to help them investigate a security breach in legal.

"ZIVA!" squealed Abby, clopping out of her office and throwing her arms around the Israeli in a tight hug. Ziva smiled even more widely and patted Abby's back indulgently, making sure to hold the very full Caf-pow! she'd brought out of the way of Abby's killer arms.

"Is that for me? Ziva! You're a life-saver! I love you! I ran out an hour ago and I kept forgetting to go get one—well, actually, I was waiting for Gibbs to come give me one, because he always knows when I'm out—he's magic, you know? I mean—"

"Abby," Ziva laughed, interrupting with a quirked eyebrow. Abby took a deep breath and slurped her Caf-pow! contentedly.

"Gibbs is preoccupied," Ziva added. Abby gave her a knowing look.

"You mean he's growly and frustrated," she sighed in mock sadness. "I know he's mad at me for not getting anything off of that girl's scarf—but I can't help it if she's a neat freak! Ah, my silver haired fox. Did he send you so he wouldn't have to face my displeasure?" Abby asked brightly.

Ziva half-shrugged and shook her head with a smile.

"I am here to help you sort through the security videos," she said.

Abby sighed and shook her head dramatically.

"He's lost his faith in my abilities, Ziva! He sent an assassin to help me watch TV!" Abby giggled and whirled around, managing to catch Ziva's wrist and drag her forcefully across the floor to her beloved computers. She tapped a few buttons and waited for the correct screens to pop up.

"So, what are we lookin' for, Ziva?" Abby asked, swaying back and forth to the incredibly loud music playing in her lab.

Ziva prowled the room a bit, coming to stand across from Abby and behind her computers, her back facing the plasma screen in forensics.

"Gibbs wants to know if any of the lawyers accessed the evidence locker or agents' computers to tamper," she answered after examining an interesting looking bobble head on Abby's shelf.

Abby shook her head fondly.

"He should have McGee looking for hackers instead. No lawyer in their right mind would go snooping through NCIS with cameras galore," she said, rolling her eyes at Gibbs' silliness.

"Lawyers are not in their right mind," Ziva said cryptically, raising her eyebrows. Abby conceded with a surrendering nod and another large slurp of the Caf-pow!.

"Anything interesting going on in Leroy-Land?" Abby asked, leaning in closer and clicking a few things on the computer. Ziva gave her bent head a funny look, trying to work out what she meant, when Abby looked up briefly and smirked. "The bullpen," she clarified.

"Oh," Ziva said, choosing not to comment on the new name for their office. She just shook her head and rolled her eyes.

"McGee has spilled Gibbs' coffee again. Palmer tripped over Tony's waste bucket and spilled the contents everywhere, and Tony is trying to convince Tim and myself that Gibbs and the Director were both late because they were," Ziva paused, her brow furrowing, "smacking boots?" she finished.

Abby snorted and glanced up again, her eyes sparkling.

"Close enough," she said, shaking her head and slouching as she tapped her nails on the table in front of her. She frowned at her computer and patted it gently on the side, as if that would encourage it to start going faster.

"He is taking bets again. He is such a child," Ziva scowled.

Abby smirked and started to respond when her phone screeched like a bat and she snatched it up off the table, glancing at the caller ID and answering it with a wide smile.

"_El_ _jefe_!" she squealed excitedly.

She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder and went back to her computer, smiling in satisfaction, and pointing to it as she beckoned Ziva over.

"Gibbs—hey, calm down, oh-grumpy-one! I just pulled up the tapes. Ziva's here, she's—"

Abby's head straightened suddenly and she phone tumbled down her shoulder, landing with a crash on her keyboard. Her eyes went wide and she stared at her computer.

"_Abby_? _Abs_?" Gibbs' voice shouted through the phone, followed by a loud crash that was probably him violently hanging up.

"Abby?" Ziva asked hesitantly.

"You might want to take that bet, Ziva," Abby answered, a Cheshire cat smile spreading over her face until her entire being seemed to sparkle with mischief and mayhem.

Ziva furrowed her brow quizzically and lifted an eyebrow.

"What do you mean? Abby, you look like the canary that caught the cat," Ziva said, starting to come around the shelves to see what Abby had found. Abby grabbed her arm and clicked a button, scuttling over to meet her and turning her sharply towards the plasma.

Ziva squinted at the screen and then widened her own eyes, her mouth opening slightly.

"Is that—"

"Uh-_huh_!"

"Jenny and—_Gibbs_!"

Abby giggled and titled her head, staring at the same video Ziva was. Ziva remained silent and stared even though she had the sneaking suspicion Gibbs was going to show up any second.

"Ziva," Abby said slowly, still staring at the screen with her winning, wicked smile. She turned slightly and caught Ziva's eye.

"It's 'cat that caught the canary'," she corrected gleefully, gesturing at the screen. "And I think she did more than _catch_ him."

* * *

_ I apologize, but I can't resist a sprinkling of Jibbs;]  
Alexa_


	3. Cute as a Button!

_The Idiom: As Cute as A Button_

_

* * *

_

It wasn't very often Ziva David had the opportunity to squeal and coo like a normal girl; she was usually too busy slouching provocatively and menacing people with knives and office supplies. She had a reputation as a seriously badass Mossad officer to uphold, after all.

But in the safety of the Director's office, she felt free to squeal and giggle and fawn all she wanted, particularly since there was a very small, very adorable kitten squirming around on Jenny's desk and Jenny herself was acting in the exact same girly way.

The Director chuckled again and dangled a ribbon in front of the orange and white striped kitten, jerking it out of the way at the last moment so the feline let out a meowing squeak and batted furiously at thin air.

Ziva smiled and stroked the kitten behind the ears. She had been a little apprehensive when Jenny had ordered her up to the office with a stern look, but all suspicion had dispersed when her friend had locked the door and dragged her over to the desk to play with the mysterious kitten.

"But where did she come from?" Ziva asked curiously, making a kissy-face at the kitten and leaning forward to nuzzle her nose against its little ears. The kitten promptly batted one of her dark curls and meowed triumphantly.

"She is a _he_," Jenny corrected, tickling his stomach with her manicured nails, "and Ducky gave him to me."

Ziva smiled at the kitten and it twisted, sprawling onto its stomach and knocking Jenny's can of pencils over. The sound startled him, and he stumbled across the desk into Ziva's waiting hands. She steadied him so he wouldn't fall off the edge.

"It is not your birthday," Ziva noted, placing the kitten back on Jenny's desk and watching as it scampered back towards Jenny, nose-diving into her lap and meowing loudly yet again.

Jenny giggled and picked it up, holding it close to her cheek.

"Ducky found him being terrorized by Contessa in their garden," she explained, crinkling her nose as the kitten put its nose against her cheek.

"Ducky is a kitty hero!" Ziva exclaimed, drawing a laugh from both women.

Jenny placed the large green ribbon that had been tied perfectly around her kitten's neck on the desk and leaned forward, setting him down and looking at him eye-level. Ziva bent down as well and crinkled her own nose, squinting her eyes and smiling.

"What have you named him?" she asked her friend, flinching good-naturedly as the nameless cat pawed at her hair again playfully.

Jenny lifted her eyebrows and the bridge of her nose reddened slightly; she looked guilty and embarrassed and amused all at once.

"Jethro," she answered finally, looking away from Ziva's teasing gaze and back at Jethro the Tiger-Striped Kitten.

Ziva raised an eyebrow and straightened up a little, watching Jethro flick his tail back and forth and glare at Jenny's keyboard like he was about to pounce.

"Why have you named your kitten after Gibbs?" Ziva asked in amusement.

"He reminds me of him!" Jenny answered, slightly defensively, as she reached out to prevent Jethro the Kitten from attacking her mouse ruthlessly.

"Why?"

"None of your business."

Ziva smirked and Jenny just gave her a mysterious look and a secretive smile.

Ziva did not quite understand; this kitten was adorable and sweet and playful. Gibbs was grouchy and sour and no-nonsense!

"I do not think Jethro is anything like his namesake," Ziva said matter-of-factly, ignoring the moody look Jenny gave her. Ziva bent down and scrunched her nose again; Jethro the Kitten pressed his against hers and then butted his forehead into hers.

"He is as cute as a zipper!" Ziva cooed, kissing the kitten's head fondly.

Jenny snorted with laugher and Ziva looked up, confused. Jenny bit her lip and took pity on the Mossad officer for her obvious confusion.

"'Cute as a button'" she offered helpfully. Ziva gave her a pouting look.

"That does not make sense!" she protested. "Buttons are not cute!"

"Neither are zippers. Buttons are definitely cuter than zippers," Jenny pointed out.

"I do not find either of them particularly _cute_," Ziva grumbled, a little annoyed at being thwarted yet again by the Americans and their crazy idioms.

"But Jethro is," Jenny said, picking up Jethro and burying her face in him.

Ziva raised an eyebrow with a smirk. Jenny peeked one eye open and noticed the look, correcting herself quickly.

"I meant the kitten!"

* * *


	4. Fly by the Seat of Your Pants

_The Idiom: Fly by the Seat of Your Pants_

_

* * *

_

Anyone observing the spectacle taking place on the usually calm and quiet Washington, D.C. neighborhood street would no doubt be genuinely confused as to why two grown adults were struggling violently with each other like two uncontrollable children.

Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo fervently hoped no one was watching him get his ass kicked by a smaller and much more petite girl, because there was no way anyone could possibly know said girl was a very spooky, very powerful Mossad agent.

"Tony! Stop it!" Ziva David ordered forcefully, as she planted her feet firmly on the sidewalk outside of the nice, clean-kept house on the street they were currently battling on.

Tony fiercely struggled, trying to get away, already terrified of her and of what would happen if they were discovered in front of _this_ particular house on a Sunday afternoon. He tugged at her grip weakly, his feet scuffling.

She was freakin' strong!

"Ziva let me go. _Please_. I didn't ask for this!" he whined childishly, his struggle stopping slightly and his shoulders slumping as he tried to re-stock his strength.

Ziva pinched his arm to shut-him up and succeeded in dragging him up the driveway a little more. He yelped as if he was being strenuously tortured and tried to pull away in fear again, shaking his head.

"Why must you always act so infantile, DiNozzo?" Ziva asked, rolling her eyes as she again attempted to stop his futile struggles and drag him towards the front porch of the house that seemed to frighten him so much.

"Infantile? Let me _go_, you madwoman!" Tony howled, breaking free for a split second before Ziva pounced forward and recaptured him, the surprise of almost escaping catching him so off guard that she managed to get him all the way to the stoop.

Tony jerked his arm violently and glared at her as if channeling their favorite boss, his shoulders rigid.

"Infantile?" he repeated angrily. "_Ziva_! We are at Gibbs' house! On a Sunday! We are invading the sanctuary, trespassing into Bourbon-Land, waking the sleeping beast! Who knows what we could be interrupting, who knows what dark secrets we could uncover. This is a terrible idea. I AM NOT BEING INFANTILE!"

Ziva rolled her eyes at him and placed a hand on her hip in a very amusing, cocky cheerleader-ish way that briefly fascinated Tony.

"Yes you are," she informed him. "Sunday is the Sabbath in your country. He could not possibly be doing anything '_dark'_," she informed her partner, rolling her dark eyes again.

Tony laughed, loudly and mockingly at her statement, amused at the irony.

"Ah, my crazy ninja, you know _nothing_ of the way Americans treat their Sabbath!" he cackled, shaking his head mournfully.

Ziva just shook her head and gave him an annoyed look, tugging him stumbling up the steps. Tony moaned dreadfully again and tried to pull away, desperate to escape back to her car and drive away to leave her alone.

This was insane. She'd finally lost it. He didn't even know what this was about, or why she needed what she did! She just demanded his help!

"Tony! Come on," Ziva ordered forcefully, pulling him up onto Gibbs' front porch with her. Tony swallowed hard and gave the door a terrified look, only imagining the wrath that was going to come of them showing up here on a day of peace for the boss man.

Ziva raised her hand to knock and Tony grabbed it in a panic.

"Wait! Ziva! How do you plan to do this?" he demanded, his eyes darting back and forth. Ziva jerked her hand from his grasp and knocked loudly once, as if it mattered, and then opened Gibbs' door, standing on the threshold with an annoyed look on her face.

"Fly by the seat of my skirt," she informed him.

Tony groaned.

"Fly by the seat of your _pants_, Ziva—why can't you get it right once, at least before we die? Because you know Gibbs is going to kill us!" he finished with a hiss, somehow hoping Gibbs hadn't alerted to their presence yet.

Ziva had paused and was looking at him in utter confusion, ignoring everything else he'd said.

"But I am wearing a skirt," she said, her dark brow furrowing quizzically as she stumbled over his correction in her head.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Tony asked desperately, having already noticed she was wearing a skirt and, being Tony, already appreciated her very nice, very bare legs.

"You said 'fly by the seat of my pants'. I do not understand; I am wearing a skirt."

Tony slapped himself in the forehead, very frustrated and uncomfortable. They should not be standing in Gibbs' foyer having this conversation; especially not when he heard a loud crash and footsteps. The bear had awoken.

"Zee-vah!" he hissed, throwing a wary glance towards the living room. "This is no time for a grammatical…idioms…vocabulary—whatever lesson! Forget about this—you don't even have a _plan_!"

Ziva gave him a steely look and turned on her heel, stomping determinedly down the hall. Tony squeaked and scuttled after her, mentally kicking himself for being drawn into this.

"Flying by the seat of my _skirt_ has previously worked for me," Ziva answered stubbornly, turning a corner.

"_Pants_!" Tony hissed, right as Ziva stopped abruptly and managed to avoid running into a very annoyed looking Gibbs. Tony smacked into the Israeli and squealed girlishly again, quailing under the hard, steely gaze in Leroy Jethro Gibbs' eyes.

He silently prayed Ziva would not do what she had told him she was going to do.

But the Gods disappointed him.

"Gibbs. We need to borrow your boat."

* * *


	5. The Grass is Always Greener

_The Idiom: The Grass is Always Greener on the Other Side

* * *

_

Ziva cocked her head at the bleeding and beaten body in front of her, a disgruntled frown on her face and a camera held limply in her hands. Ducky knelt down over the poor woman, and the only sounds that filled Officer David's ears were the angry, shouting sobs of the woman's killer.

Ziva turned to look at the psychotic woman Tony and Gibbs were trying to restrain. She had been their lead suspect in a case of harassment and terrorization and had now, practically right in front of them, shot her neighbor multiple times. The neighbor had been the complaining victim.

"Oh, what a tragedy," Ducky sighed in a melancholy way, looking up and squinting in the sun.

Palmer nodded sadly and McGee looked grim and frazzled as he came over from where he'd been setting up police tape, his eyes wide and annoyed.

"I don't get why people think it's so fascinating to come look at dead bodies," he said, shaking his head and giving their victim a pale look.

"Most think it is similar to television," Ziva answered grimly, snapping a last, random picture.

A loud shriek drew their attention; Ducky, Palmer, McGee and Ziva all turned to look as the woman Gibbs was restraining burst into tears and starting sobbing all over Gibbs, dropping the murder weapon at his feet.

As inappropriate as it was, Ziva snickered quietly at the horrified look on Gibbs' face…and then shut her mouth quietly when McGee gave her an odd look.

"You don't understand! She had everything!" the woman sobbed loudly.

Gibbs tried to pry her away and hand her to Tony but Tony just backed away with wide-eyes and defensive hands as the woman latched back onto their boss.

Ziva and McGee looked at each other, loathe to approach and standing at the property line. Ziva sighed and shook her head as she looked from the victim and Gibbs' sobbing female, neighbors of each other.

"Why did she inflict such torture on this woman? Our victim already had troubles. She did not need this," Ziva sighed.

"Ah, what jealousy can do to us," Ducky sighed, turning back to the body after a shocked stare at the fiasco Gibbs was dealing with.

"She was shouting that our victim 'had everything'." Ziva quoted, cocking her head at McGee and looking back at Gibbs. McGee swallowed warily, watching the same scene as the Mossad officer.

"Maybe she thought she did," he said with a shrug. "The grass is always greener on the other side."

Ziva pursed her lips and looked down at her feet, stepping over the property line and back.

"No, it is not."

McGee looked at her, his eyebrows going up in confusion, and then he looked down and shook his head, smiling slightly in spite of the situation.

"Well, no, not _literally_, but what I meant was—"

"She killed her neighbor because she thought her _grass_ was greener?" Ziva asked incredulously, her wide eyes turning back to Gibbs and the woman, watching as Gibbs held her at arm's length and actually shouted at her.

"Americans cannot be that petty!"

McGee chuckled, and she heard Ducky laugh too as he looked up with a benign grin.

"My dear, what Timothy means is that our perpetrator thought the victim had everything perfect and easy. She thought things were better in another's life. The phrase simply means we are never satisfied with our own lives; we always think someone else's things are better."

Ziva nearly threw up her hands in exasperation.

"What does this have to do with _grass_?" she demanded, and then shook her head. She looked back down at the grass and furrowed her brow.

They both looked the same shade of green to her.

* * *


	6. Caught Red Handed

_The Idiom: Caught Red Handed_

* * *

Ziva David was having a very pleasant morning, as far as pleasant mornings go. She had purchased herself a Berry Mango Madness and was coming in to work after a very long, relaxing weekend. Americans celebrated strange holidays, but if she was off of work for them, she would not complain.

Happily taking a long drink of her Berry Mango Madness, she walked into the bullpen and stopped immediately, narrowing her eyes. Her senses told her something was up; no one was at their desk—but Tony's chair was sitting mysteriously in the middle of the room.

Lifting a dark eyebrow, Ziva tilted her head stealthily and listened, watching her desk. She had the strange feeling she was about to find out who was nicking cookies from her secret stash.

Her chair moved slightly and she pulled the straw from her mouth, smiling wickedly. She glanced around again casually to make sure Gibbs was nowhere to be seen, and set her drink silently on her desk, crossing her arms and leaning against it.

Slowly, Tony's backside appeared, wiggling comically in the small space and trying to be as silent as possible as it—followed by the rest of his body—maneuvered out from under/behind her desk.

He ducked his head lower when he pulled it out from under her desk, reaching a hand up to her chair and placing his palm against it to steady himself as she started to stand up. He turned mid-crouch, a chips-ahoy! Cookie clamped between his sneaky teeth, and locked eyes with his menacing partner.

Tony jumped a mile and slipped off of the chair, crashing to the floor and squealing in wide-eyed surprise.

Ziva cackled evilly and glared at him threateningly.

"I knew it was you!" she accused, reaching down and grabbing him by the waistband of his pants. She jerked him forward with strength unknown to soft-spoken American women and threw him into the middle of the bullpen, pinning her knee into his sternum and making it extremely uncomfortable for him to breath.

"Lemme go!" Tony mumbled through a mouthful of stolen cookie.

"Spit it out!" Ziva ordered, slamming his arms into the carpet and holding them down.

Tony spluttered and instead ate the offending cookie with a smug smile.

"_You_ are the cookie thief," Ziva hissed.

"Am not," Tony said, daring to deny it.

"I have caught you red-armed!" Ziva snapped, smirking.

"Red-handed," Tony managed to choke out, struggling slightly.

Ziva dug her knee into him harder and rolled her eyes.

"I have not even touched your hands. They are not red nor are they hurt," She informed him matter-of-factly.

Tony was such a weakling sometimes, for all his macho blustering.

Tony laughed.

"Its 'caught red _handed'_, Ziva," he said, raising an eyebrow. "You caught me 'red handed' not 'red armed'."

"So you admit it!" Ziva cried triumphantly, making a mental note to look up that idiom later. She could have _sworn_ Jenny told her it was red-armed…

Tony looked trapped and swallowed, muttering something about not meaning that _he_ was the one who did it. Ziva laughed meanly again.

"You will not escape from this unscathed," she threatened, "I keep those cookies for times of dire need, times you do not want to experience me in without my cookies—" she started to go on, intent on getting more violent with her threats, when someone cleared their throat.

Ziva looked up. Tony twisted his head to see who was interrupting and blanched.

Gibbs glared at them both, classic cup of coffee in his hand. Ziva realized that to him, this looked like nothing more than two if his agents playing grab-ass in the middle of the bullpen.

She tried a sweet smile.

But she had never been good at those.

"GET TO WORK!" Gibbs barked.

Ziva scrambled off of Tony and gave him a very promising, evil look. She would get him later, when Gibbs could not catch _her_ red handed.

* * *

_--If there are any particular idioms you want to see done, leave a suggestion! I'll see what I can do._


	7. Take the Bull by the Horns

_The Idiom: Take the Bull by the Horns_

* * *

Ziva David tapped her pen against her lips and studied her team mates through squinted eyes.

Gibbs was asleep at his desk. Asleep or pretending to be asleep; Ziva didn't know. Either way, she would not dare disturb him.

Tony was chucking little balls of paper at her wastebasket, trying to annoy her and coming precariously close to hitting Gibbs. Ziva sincerely hoped this happened; there would be no end to her delight if Tony hit the Boss in the face with a paper wad.

Tony's efforts to annoy her were futile today; as she was too busy watching McGee. Tim was looking very glum, and seemed stressed and overwhelmed. His eyes were tired and droopy and he was pale as if he hadn't gotten much sleep.

Tim was currently in the dog house with Gibbs because he had yelled at Abby, and Gibbs allowed no one to yell at Abby.

Tim sighed loudly and got up, trudging out of the bullpen. From what Ziva could see over the walls, he was headed for the men's room. She waited for a few moments before casually getting up and following him.

Tony stopped mid paper-flick and watched her with a confused look, obviously hurt that McGee was more interesting than he. Ziva ignored him and caught up with McGee in the men's room.

"Ziva! You-you're not a man," McGee stuttered, looking at her with wide-eyes.

"Thank you for noticing," Ziva responded grimly, lifting an eyebrow. "You are very blue today, Tim," she said observantly.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"I have a lot on my plate," he said. Ziva felt a spark of triumph. She understood exactly what he meant by the saying. She gave him a concerned look.

"What is the problem?" she asked.

"Well," Tim said reluctantly. He paused before deciding he could go on. "I haven't been able to crack the code Gibbs wants for the Muller case, and I have a deadline to meet for my book by midnight. I don't have anything written for my editor, though, and now Gibbs is even angrier with me because I snapped at Abby."

Ziva frowned. Poor McGee. He was in trouble with Gibbs on two fronts, and he just looked so sad and downtrodden. She made a mental note to kick his publisher's ass.

"You will get that code. If anyone can, it is you Tim," she said warmly, positive he could get it. "And as for your publisher," her look darkened, "you are the one making _her_ money! Take the goat by the horns and tell her you need more time!"

McGee cracked a genuine smile.

"'Take the bull by the horns'," he corrected with a grin.

Ziva groaned.

"Goats have horns," she protested, almost whiney. This was what she got for trying to be helpful? Thwarted again by the Americans and their idioms.

"You're right," McGee said with a smile, "They both make sense, I guess."

"Americans make no sense," Ziva retorted, rolling her eyes.

McGee smiled at her, and she smiled back.

"Thanks, Ziva," he said, leaving the men's room and holding the door open for her. Ziva nodded to him in appreciation.

"If your publisher still will not listen," Ziva said, rounding the corner to the bullpen, "I will show her how painful a bull's horns can be."

Tim laughed, just as they both stopped in the entrance to the bullpen. Quieting immediately, they both crept back to their desks and resumed work, trying to avoid being seen by the awoken bear.

Gibbs stood over Tony's desk, glaring frighteningly. Apparently Tony had succeeded in hitting Gibbs with a paper wad.

Ziva was sorry she missed it.

* * *


	8. Take a Leaf out of Your Book

_The Idiom: Take a Leaf out of Your Book_

_

* * *

_

Ziva David was annoyed.

Any intelligent person working at NCIS had learned long, long ago that an annoyed Ziva David was scarier than the child of Ted Bundy and Hitler and done everything in their power to keep her happy and sweet.

Well, as sweet as a stealthy Mossad agent with secret ninja and office-material manipulating powers could be.

The point was: no one in their right mind annoyed Miss David.

Except, Ziva noted, as she stormed out of the Ladies' room five seconds after walking in, the girls from evidence who Tony so cutely nicknamed 'Baggie Bunnies'.

Four of them were currently in the Ladies' room. _Not_ going to the bathroom. Being loud, chattering incessantly, putting on make-up, and generally impersonating gossiping sixteen-year-old girls.

And to think, Ziva had defended them to Tony's sexism. That little favor was going to stop now.

Ziva refused to use the Ladies' room when there were four immature women standing around sighing loudly, clicking their tongues, and waiting for her to leave so they could resume their gossip.

See, she had been working on using restrain with her weapons lately, and remaining in that bathroom was not conducive to helping her in that area.

So she stalked out after receiving annoyed looks from the Baggie Bunnies and made the instant decision to use the men's room. She went in there often anyway to harass Tony, and occasionally McGee.

And that one time just to scare Palmer.

Ziva smirked at the memory and swiftly turned towards the men's, matching an agent coming out of the lavatory's admonishing expression with a vicious glare. He scuttled away, even holding the door open for her a little.

Why were people so touchy about their bathrooms? Ziva did not see the problem. She had been in situations where using the trees to relieve herself was preferable to the 'bathrooms' provided.

Still, the Ladies' room had been stocked with nice little heart-shaped soaps and mints ever since Jenny became director, and Ziva preferred heart-shaped soaps to the men's messy foam soap-dispensers and would not forgive the vapid Baggie Bunnies anytime soon.

At least men used the bathroom for one thing and one thing only—and they did it silently.

It was a reason she preferred to work with men.

Not to mention randomly appearing in the men's bathroom never ceased to be amusing for her.

She had cheered herself up a tiny bit with these thoughts as she jerked the men's room door open wide and was blithely unconcerned with the bang it made as it smacked against the wall. She strode through the door, hoping a probie was in there to frighten and therefore cheer her more, but she was disappointed.

Sort of.

There was no skittish probie, but there _were_ Jenny and Gibbs.

She lifted her eyebrow suspiciously.

Jenny appeared to be yelling at Gibbs. They were standing very close together. Except Gibbs did not look perturbed, he looked quite pleased with himself.

Ziva assumed this was the reason he was being chewed out.

Ziva coughed.

Jenny froze and turned, her mouth open slightly, and stared. Gibbs peeked over her shoulder at Ziva and glared.

"Why are you always lurking in the men's bathroom?!" Jenny asked in exasperation, a flush creeping across her wrinkled nose.

"The ladies' has become a meeting place for the _Army Wives_ fan club," Ziva answered darkly.

Gibbs growled something incoherently and glared. Ziva gave her red-haired friend another suspicious look.

"What are _you_ doing in the men's room? With Gibbs?" she asked, trying to figure out if this was worth mentioning to Tony and holding details over his head.

Jenny's mouth moved wordlessly.

"I was taking a leaf out of _your_ book!" she snapped finally.

Ziva's brow immediately furrowed. She did not understand this one at all.

"You need only ask if you want to borrow one of my books, Jenny," she informed her friend patiently.

Gibbs snorted. Jenny shot him a glare.

"You shut up."

Gibbs smirked.

"Ziva, I meant—"

"And," Ziva interrupted, still trying to work it out, "my books are not made of leaves. I do not think. Though I may have an artifact from an uncle that is in fact made of papyrus," she paused, and sensed Jenny staring at her with a badly concealed smile.

"What?!"

"It's a figure of speech," Jenny said calmly.

Ziva glared.

"Explain to me why leaves and my books have anything to do with you being with Gibbs in this restroom or I will tell Tony I found you two in here. Together."

The way she let the sentence sit in the air in formed Jenny she would be supplying DiNozzo with a story that was very different from the truth.

"I followed your example. I thought you had a good idea and stole it. I copied you. You did not see Agent Gibbs and myself in the bathroom."

Ziva smirked.

"Followed my example?"

"Tony seems to listen to you when you corner him in here. I postulated that it might work on Jethro as well." Jenny explained.

Ziva seemed entertained.

"I believe Tony listens because he is turned on by me cornering him in a men's room," she mused.

Jenny smirked.

"I figured," she said slyly.

Ziva smiled wider.

"Men are easier to manipulate when they are aroused," she said, sharing a mischievous look with Jenny.

Jenny nodded slowly. Ziva smirked at Gibbs. He glared at the back of Jenny's head.

"I see why you are putting leaves in my book," Ziva said smugly, pleased with Jenny's choice of dealing with Gibbs' insubordination.

It was one of her personal favorites as well.

"Taking leaves out of, Ziva," Jenny corrected nicely, "for future reference."

"Noted," Ziva said.

The door opened behind them and Palmer entered his head down. He looked up, his eyes widened to the size of saucers, and he backed out slowly, looking very frightened.

Jenny giggled.

"Jenny?"

"Ziva?"

"What did Gibbs do?"

Jenny gave her friend a solemn look, and threw another dirty glare at an increasingly harassed looking Gibbs over her shoulder.

"_He_ took a leaf out of _Tony's_ book."

* * *


	9. Spilled the Beans

_The Idiom: Spilled the Beans_

_

* * *

_

Ziva David dragged her partner out of the bedroom of the house they were currently demolishing in search of a very, very important USB drive. He protested loudly, whined, and attempted to struggle free and ultimately failed.

Ziva smacked him in the back of head, as Gibbs was not present to do it.

"Ziva! Gibbs said to look everywhere!" Tony informed her, jerking away once they were in the kitchen and giving her a moody look.

McGee's head appeared in the doorway; he was crawling on the floor like some kind of creepy animal, looking under things.

"I am aware of that, Tony, but I'm fairly certain the USB was not hidden in Mrs. Landry's copy of _Cosmopolitan_."

Tony grumbled. Ziva smacked him again and ordered him to help her destroy the kitchen. She began pulling open cabinets.

"Find anything, McCrawling On The Floor?"

A sneeze was Tony's answer.

"A lot of cat hair," the probie answered thickly.

Tony laughed rudely. Ziva shoved him in the shoulder and he yelped, giving her a sulky look and going back to the cabinet next to her. He unceremoniously dumped Cheerios onto the counter and flicked them everywhere.

Ziva gave him an annoyed look. There was no need to make a mess of food all over. That would help nothing.

Food everywhere was a pet peeve of hers.

"Why isn't Gibbs here?" Tony whined loudly, swatting Ziva's hand away from him as she tried to stop him eating dry Cheerios.

"He is conferring with the Director about a search warrant."

Tony snorted obnoxiously.

"Is _that_ what they call it now?" he asked with a leer.

McGee slunk into the kitchen on his hands and knees. Tony backed up at the same moment and tripped over him, sprawling them both on the tile floor ungracefully.

"MCCLUMSY!"

"Ow! Tony, yeesh! GET OFF!"

Ziva turned with a can of dried beans in her hands and stared at them.

Tony punched McGee in the arm and McGee yelled, kicking Tony in the shin. Ziva watched, amazed at how ridiculous they looked.

Tony pinched McGee in the nose. McGee squealed embarrassingly. Tony attacked again and McGee missed miserably with his retaliation. Ziva no longer knew if they were seriously angry or joking around.

"McGee, you are not doing very well," Ziva observed sympathetically, stating a face.

They rolled towards her and she leapt back to avoid being taken down with them; her hand shot into the air and the beans went everywhere, scattering all over the fighting federal idiots and plinking on the floor.

"I spilled the beans!" she cried, devastated.

She was the perpetrator of a food mess!

"No you didn't, Zeee-vah," Tony gasped, struggling upwards and pinning McGee down with his foot, affecting a Superman-like stance. "Everyone already _knew_ Probalicious fights like a girl."

"No, Tony, I spilled the beans. _Literally_," Ziva informed him morosely. She gave his distracted head a confused look. "What did you think I meant?"

"Ziva, you found the USB!" McGee choked, lifting it out of the sprout mess and tossing it to her.

Ziva caught it deftly and beamed, momentarily quite proud of herself. Then she promptly returned to trying to figure out what beans had to do with McGee being a terrible wrestling participant. She cocked her head and started to pursue her question further when something Tony had said clicked...

She whirled on him, holding her hand out menacingly.

He squeaked at the look on her face.

"McGee fights like a _what_?" she snarled.

Tony gulped.

Ziva pounced.

She would show him what _girls_ fought like.

* * *


	10. Playing Possum

_The Idiom: Playing Possum. By request of: M.E. Wofford_

* * *

Tony was asleep at his desk. Again.

Ziva David was watching him sharply. Unblinkingly.

Tony's arms were crossed as a sort of pillow. His cheek rested on his folded arms delicately and his shoulders lifted and fell peacefully. He wasn't making a sound. Every once in a while, his elbow twitched imperceptibly.

Imperceptibly except to a very well trained, sharp, and observant Mossad operative.

Ziva's eyes flicked to McGee for a split second. He was unfazed by Tony's lack of working. The probie was buried in hacking something, as per usual. Tony was supposed to be doing paperwork, yet he was sleeping.

Ziva had been attempting to glare him awake for five minutes, experimenting with his unknowing head to see if she could force herself to develop heat vision and awaken him by setting him on fire.

She had been watching too much _Smallville_.

Slowly, she pushed her chair back and got up casually. McGee did not acknowledge her movement.

She deemed it unfair for Tony to be sleeping. She determined to wake him up.

Creeping innocently across the bullpen, she sidled up to his desk and leaned forward, placing her hands quietly on the metal. She smirked.

Ziva surreptitiously licked her finger and stuck it in his ear, imitating something she'd seen in an American children's show.

Tony twitched.

Nothing.

Ziva frowned. She had been looking forward to a girly squeal, or possibly—if she was lucky—him toppling out of his chair in shock. But he continued to sleep.

She removed her finger from his ear, giving it a wary look. She glared at Tony and then reached over and wiped her finger off on his shirt, certain this would draw a protest of displeasure from her partner.

Still nothing.

"Tony," she sing-songed softly, lifting an eyebrow. "Jenny is walking naked through the squad room."

Tony did not move. But McGee did.

Ziva was momentarily diverted as his head shot up from his computer, his eyes wide, and he glanced around before looking at her and finally realizing what was going on. He flushed. Ziva smirked. That was information she could use later if need be.

Back to her predicament.

"That didn't wake him up?!" McGee asked incredulously.

Ziva shook her head with a dark frown.

"I once made a comment that you could see Agent Foster's red thong through her skirt. He was on the catwalk. He heard. He might have actually flown down the stairs." McGee informed her solemnly.

Ziva looked back at Tony and furrowed her brow. She glared.

"Tony! Gibbs is wearing a chicken suit!"

McGee snorted.

Tony remained unmoving.

Ziva slammed her hands down on the metal. Tony visibly flinched, and then resumed his sleeping. Ziva gave him a suspicious look and bent closer. She blew on his face. His eyes twitched. Her suspicious look deepened.

"TONY!" she bellowed at the top of her considerable lungs, scaring the bejesus out of McGee and causing a few agents to scatter in fear.

Tony slipped up. He smirked and then tried to hide it.

"Aha!" Ziva announced loudly. She glanced at McGee and then glared at Tony. "He is playing koala!"

Tony's head moved slightly. Ziva leaned forward slightly to examine him.

"_Possum_, Ziva," Gibbs said shortly, appearing out of nowhere with his trusty cup of coffee and trademark glare.

Ziva scowled.

"Why would he—"

Gibbs didn't miss a beat as he answered, deadpan, without a second glance:

"From that angle, he can see straight down your shirt."

* * *


	11. Hindsight is 2020

_The Idiom: Hindsight is 20/20. Requested by: Wolf of Sylvyr._

_

* * *

_

Ziva David, mysterious and badass Mossad operative, and Abby Scuito, Goth and forensic scientist extraordinaire, stood silently in the middle of the lab.

Neither spoke. You could hear a pin drop in ballistics. Not a machine beeped.

Without warning, Abby's burst of hysterical laughter shattered the silence. Five seconds later Ziva joined in, giggling madly as they looked around and surveyed the damage.

It was late. Abby had stayed to rush some results for Gibbs. Ziva had stumbled across her attempting to keep herself awake in the lab. The assassin-turned-investigator had volunteered to help. One thing led to another, and somehow the lab had ended up covered in gelatinous purple goo.

Ziva collapsed against the nearest table, clutching her side, while Abby tried to stifle her laughter in her hands, her pigtails bouncing as she shook her head. Her green eyes sparkled.

"What a mess!" the scientist choked out between peals of laughter.

"Do you even know what it is?"

"Er…"

Abby's uncertainty brought on another fit of insane laughter from the women, who were not only doused in the same purple goo as Abby's precious lab but also peppered with powdered sugar and speckled with permanent marker.

Ziva could not remember how this had happened. It had started with a trick involving mentos and coca-cola…and some superglue…and somehow gunpowder had joined the party…for some reason unknown to Ziva David, she and Abby had regressed to childhood.

And alcohol wasn't even involved. Just boredom, some sharpies, powdered sugar, mysterious goo, a smidgeon of peanut butter, and a spilt caf-pow!.

"How did we burn a hole in your shoe?" Ziva asked through giggles.

"I told you not to touch the hydrochloric acid!" Abby squealed, sinking to the floor. She slid in the sticky messy and chuckled, flopping onto her back.

What was the harm in getting even ickier? Everything was already a neat freak's nightmare.

"Harry is going to have a heart attack," Abby said, attempting to be apologetic.

"In two hours Gibbs will storm in here for results and you are worried about the janitor?" Ziva asked incredulously, stepping forward.

She slipped in the unknown substance they had given existence to and went down next to Abby with an uncharacteristic shriek. Abby shouted with laughter and elbowed Ziva good-naturedly. Ziva reached under her head and removed a box of latex gloves from under her neck, chucking them up to a counter.

"Jenny's going to be pissed."

"Tony will have a field day with what we could have been doing all night."

"McGee might actually pass out."

Abby shot upwards and grabbed Ziva's hand, dragging her Israeli friend up to a sitting position with her. She reached for Bert, who was also subject to a shower with purple stickiness, and hugged him. The hippo promptly farted.

She looked around the lab brightly. Ziva copied her, taking in the ungodly mess. What had they done? Abby's lab was destroyed. The equipment was working, but everything else…

"Er," Abby cleared her throat, attempting to school her features sternly. She turned to Ziva. "Maybe this wasn't such a brilliant idea."

Ziva lifted an eyebrow.

Of course it wasn't. It was the worst idea she'd ever had—and playing that prank on Gibbs last week had been spectacularly horrible.

But _this_ had been bundles of fun.

"We _really_ shouldn't have done this," Abby said, collapsing in giggles again.

"I suppose hindsight is 100/100!" Ziva snickered, smirking.

Abby laughed loudly, throwing Bert at Ziva. The stuffed animal settled in Ziva's lap.

"It is _not_!" Abby cried, beaming. "What kind of terrible eyesight do you have? Hindsight is 20/20! You can see _better_ when you know the result!"

Ziva giggled. Their vision had certainly been very clouded.

"Now that we can see _20_/20," Ziva mused, raising her dark eyebrows, "would you have still allowed this to happen?"

Abby paused and glanced around at the nightmare that was the NCIS forensics lab. She grinned wickedly.

"Hell yes," she said smartly.

Abby snatched Bert back and gave him a kiss. Ziva swept her hand along the floor and tossed a handful of purple goo at Abby. Abby shrieked and scrambled away on her hands on knees, leaving Bert behind at Ziva's mercy.

Ziva shifted onto her hands and knees as well and slipped after Abby, resuming their purple goo and powdered sugar fight. She made it to the bag of random sugar first and struggled to stand in the slick mess with a handful of white weaponry.

She chucked it. Abby ducked with a shout of triumph. Ziva froze instantly. Abby popped back up, smiling like a Cheshire, and paused when she saw the look on her goo-battle-arch-enemy's face. She cocked an eyebrow and whirled around like a dervish to the doorway, where Ziva was staring…

…and adopted the same terrified, solemn, and shocked look as the Israeli herself.

Neither Abby nor Ziva had ever endured a glare as fierce as the one they were getting from one powdered-sugar-coated Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Abby slapped both hands over her mouth to supress in a loud giggle. Ziva just looked paralyzed with fear.

Hindsight may be 20/20, but this sight was infinitely better.

* * *

_I swear I was completely sober when I wrote this..._


	12. Pardon My French

_The Idiom: Pardon My French_

* * *

"I despise English."

Jenny Shepard gave Ziva David an amused look from behind her desk, ignoring the pile of very important files in front of her and the number of very important e-mails on her computer.

"Oh?" she asked mildly.

Ziva nodded broodingly.

"You speak it exceptionally well," Jenny complimented nicely.

"English sayings make no sense whatsoever," Ziva informed her grumpily.

"Neither does 'a little fire burns a great deal of corn," Jenny pointed out smugly.

Ziva glared at her. They had already agreed this very wise Hebrew phrase lost gravity in translation. Jenny smiled sweetly. Ziva pursed her lips.

"That makes perfect sense," she said, waving her hand.

Jenny laughed.

"It's all a matter of perspective," the Director said lightly, standing up. She perched on the edge of her desk, enjoying the quiet moment with her friend.

"Why does Tony care so much, then?" Ziva asked indignantly.

Ah. The root of the problem. Jenny arched an eyebrow.

"Why do you care so much what Tony cares about?"

"I do not care at all."

Ziva's response was instantaneous. Jenny smirked.

"I do not like your smirk," Ziva said suspiciously. "Why are you smirking? The last time you did that we ended up in a harem in Saudi Arabia."

Jenny smirked silently some more. Ziva glared.

"I suggest you stop smirking and insinuating via smirk that I care about Tony's opinion or I shall inform the immature subject of our conversation that your kitten's name is Jethro and you refer to him often as 'sweetheart'."

Jenny immediately stopped smirking and stood up. Ziva decided it was her turn to smirk.

"Drink?" the redhead asked.

Ziva answered in the affirmative and followed her friend to the conference table, sitting on the edge. It was getting grey outside. It had been a slow day at the agency, a day Ziva spent being tormented by Tony.

Jenny placed a glass of Vodka in front of the Israeli, well-informed of Ziva's preferred alcohol. Ziva picked it up and toasted Jenny cheerfully.

"To your sweetheart," she quipped slyly.

Jenny narrowed her eyes.

"To your little hairy butt," Jenny fired back.

Ziva made a mental note to find out how her friend knew about that particularl nickname and took a drink. Jenny's annoying smirk was back. She placed her glass of bourbon on the table and gave Ziva a mysterious look.

"I will bust out my secret stash of pixie sticks," she started slowly, "if you swear on your life you won't tell Gibbs where they are."

"Erm. Why?"

"He's a dirty thief."

Ziva smirked. She nodded her promise and Jenny turned around, pulling open her top drawer in her filing cabinet and shuffling a few things around. She had to lean up a little even in her fashionably high heels.

Jenny turned slightly, her hand still in the filing cabinet, her other holding out a handful of pure sugar-filled sticks. Ziva smiled. Jenny tossed them on the table, ignoring the few that tumbled off, and absently shoved the filing cabinet shut gleefully.

Right on her left hand.

Gasping, she reacted by jerking her hand out of the cabinet, ripping off half of a brand new manicured nail in the process.

"Mother_fu_—"

Jenny rattled off a string of curse words too shameful to repeat, holding her hand gingerly.

Ziva widened her eyes slightly at Jenny's outburst. Being a Mossad operative, she was no stranger to vile, degrading language, but this—and from _Jenny_, at that—was a string of the most impressive cursing she'd heard in her life.

She didn't think Jenny had it in her.

She stared at the Director of NCIS.

Jenny closed her eyes and bit down on her lip, taking a deep breath. She looked up, saw the shock on Ziva's face, and the bridge of her nose reddened slightly.

"Er…" she cleared her throat, looking ashamed. "Pardon my French."

Momentarily confused, Ziva snapped out of her surprise.

"Jenny, your French is flawless," she informed her friend.

Jenny looked back at her with an identical confused look.

"Besides," Ziva continued with a small grin, "you were most certainly _not_ speaking French."

Jenny looked apologetic.

"Ziva it's…another expression. Meaning 'excuse the horrendous cursing that just escaped my lips and forget you ever heard it'."

Ziva glared at Jenny, and tried to remember it was not in fact Jenny's fault that Americans were crazy.

"I do not think the French would appreciate being associated with what you just said. Nor do I think they would think highly of that expression."

Jenny scoffed in an ashamed way and cradled her bleeding hand, wincing as she looked at it. Ziva stepped closer, and then offered her glass of Vodka sympathetically when she saw the damage done to Jenny's lovely manicure. Her friend's hand was turning purple.

Fully aware Vodka would do more for the pain than bourbon, Jenny took the glass and knocked it back in one go. Ziva arched an eyebrow and opted for not asking how Jenny was able to handle nonchalantly tossing back a full glass of pure Russian-made vodka.

"Jenny," she asked, raising her eyebrow mischievously.

Jenny looked at her, waiting for her to continue. Ziva smirked.

"Where did you learn to, ah, 'speak French' in such a violent manner?" Ziva asked in amusement.

Jenny's cheeks flushed a spectacular shade of pink again and a pained expression crossed her features. Not many people knew she had the rare ability to curse like a sailor. _Literally_. Ziva was looking at her expectantly. She felt she owed the other woman an explanation, after subjecting her to such vulgar and unladylike eloquence.

"Ah," she said slowly, picking up her glass of bourbon and muffling her answer in it unsuccessfully, "this old marine I used to date."

* * *


	13. Raining Cats and Dogs

_The Idiom: Raining Cats and Dogs_

_

* * *

_

Ziva David stood in front of the huge windows in the squad room, looking out at the drearyweather. Days with nothing to do were made decidedly worse when the sun was not even out to influence bright moods.

Something hit her in the back of the head.

She glared into the glass and turned slowly around, giving the culprit a menacing look. Tony grinned impishly at her and paused in throwing his next eraser. He opted for dropping it instead and leaping out of his chair.

He bounded over to her like an excited puppy and ran into her purposely.

Ziva turned back to staring thoughtfully out into the pouring rain.

"I'm bored."

Ziva ignored him. He poked her in the side of the head and leaned in close.

"Let's superglue pink cotton balls to Probius's computer again!" Tony suggested brightly.

"I do not want to," Ziva answered sternly.

Rain put her in a terrible mood. She had been raised around sun and warmth. Cloudy, muddy wet days did not please her at all, and they seemed to be happening quite frequently lately in America.

Tony whined at her and titled his head, following her gaze outside.

"What's so interesting about the view, my little ninja?" he asked, earning a glare.

"I am not little."

"Are too."

"Am not."

"Are too!"

"I will strangle you with your socks."

Tony closed his mouth and went back to looking outside with a disconcerted look. He sighed loudly and swayed, knocking into her again. Ziva suppressed a smile. She did not want him to know his antics were starting to cheer her up. Again, Tony leaned over and whispered loudly:

"What are we looking at?"

"It is raining men," Ziva stated gloomily.

Tony gave her a blank look and then snorted loudly.

"Er, I think you mean it's 'raining cats and dogs'," he informed her loftily.

Ziva turned to him, half-annoyed and half confused.

"I am sure I have heard people say 'it is raining men'," she insisted.

Tony smirked.

"'It's raining men' is a popular song," he said.

Ziva looked at him uncomprehendingly. Tony smiled wider.

"You know, the song!" He opened his mouth wide and began to sing, a very bad imitation of this song he spoke of at that: "It's rainin' men! Hallelujah! It's rainin' men—"

_WHACK._

Tony broke off immediately with a yelp and whipped around, grabbing the back of his head with a look like a kicked puppy. Ziva snickered.

Gibbs glared darkly at Tony. Ziva attempted to keep a straight face.

"If I _ever_ hear that again, DiNozzo…"

* * *


	14. No Use Crying Over Spilt Milk

_The Idiom: No Use Crying Over Spilt Milk_

_

* * *

_

"Who's going to tell Gibbs?"

"I will not tell him."

"Make Probie do it!"

"No!"

"Someone go get Abby…make her tell him."

"Tony, do not be so infantile."

"I don't see you volunteering to inform him, Zee-vah!"

Three very special, and very guilty, NCIS agents fell silent and stared at each other in the huddled little triangle they were gathered in. They looked at each other suspiciously, as if one of them was going to start laying blame, and then looked back at the floor warily.

Tony shook his head stubbornly again.

"I'm not telling him."

"It is your fault!" Ziva David, very annoyed Mossad officer, hissed at him.

Timothy McGee, computer genius—and now a very jumpy one at that—looked over his shoulder cautiously, watching the elevator. A hand flicked him in the ear and he jumped, turning to glare at Anthony DiNozzo. The other agent gave him a goofy grin.

"It wouldn't have happened if McSniffles here hadn't sneezed."

Ziva scoffed.

"Tim would not have sneezed if you had not blown pepper on him," she snapped, rolling her eyes. Tim nervously checked the entrance to the bullpen again.

"Guys, it doesn't matter!" he said, looking back at the floor, "Someone's got to take the blame."

"I'm not telling him."

"I certainly am not."

McGee mustered a glare and gave his co-workers an annoyed look.

"Well, he's going to notice! We can't just stand in a huddle and act natural!"

Tony waved his hands immaturely in McGee's face to shush him.

"Quiet, McWhiney, let me think," he shushed, putting on a serious look. Ziva rolled her eyes and pushed her hair back, looking with dismay again at the current cause of their distress. After a moment of silence, he shrugged.

"I got nothin'," he sighed.

Ziva groaned. McGee whimpered.

"He's going to kill us," Tim moaned, putting his hands on his face.

Ziva glared at Tony for making the mess. She glared at Tim for acting so frightened. She threw up her hands.

"Someone is going to explain this! Someone is going to have to tell Gibbs why his steaming cup of coffee is splashed all over the carpet!" she growled, giving them dirty looks.

This was in no way her fault. It had not been her idea to crouch next to McGee's desk and spray him with pepper; that had been Tony. It had not been she who McGee had stumbled over and pushed backwards as he went into a sneezing rage; it had been Tony.

TONY was the one who had crashed into Gibbs' desk and slung the coffee halfway across the room.

"I know! We can distract him!" Tony yelped, snapping his fingers comically.

"How?" McGee asked dismally.

"An explosion?" Ziva suggested brightly. Something going up in flames might cheer her!

Tony waved his hand and rolled his eyes.

"No. Someone find me a redhead!"

A throat cleared from behind Tony. He threw glance over his shoulder and then jumped, turning a little and looking guilty.

"Er, hi Jenny. Director. Director Shepard," Tony paused and flashed a grin, "ma'am. You have red hair," he informed her.

Jenny raised her eyebrows and looked past him to Ziva. She then let her gaze travel down and gave the coffee mess an amused look.

"_Oh_," she said lightly, as if that explained everything. She looked back up at Tony and tilted the file in her hand to her hair, looking at Tony expectantly, inquiring.

"We need you to distract Gibbs," Tony said conspiratorially.

The eyebrows went up further. McGee looked embarrassed. Ziva smirked. Tony just beamed and wriggled around like an excited puppy.

"And how, exactly?" she asked.

"You now," Tony said, nodding, "that thing you do!"

Jenny waited patiently.

"Smile," Tony said simply, shrugging.

Jenny smiled, and laughed. She lay the file in her hands on Gibbs desk and poked her head in to get a better look. She clicked her tongue, mock appalled.

"A full cup? Bad luck," she sighed, and shrugged lightly, "but you're adults. You don't need me to cover for you."

"Jenny!" moaned Tony. She gave him a look. "Director!" he tried, in the same whiny voice.

Jenny rolled her eyes.

"Honestly, DiNozzo, he isn't that bad. Jethro is a kitten."

Three pairs of eyes stared at her disbelievingly before Tony burst out:

"A mutant, angry, fanged, vampire kitten!"

"Gibbs is Godzilla on a good day," McGee added.

"He frightens my father," Ziva piped up darkly.

Jenny shrugged, looking amused.

"I can't help you. What's done is done. I could never distract him from this anyway; he would know,"

"She's got a point," McGee said forlornly.

"You're a mean Director," Tony pouted.

"He'll get over it. There's no use crying over spilt milk," Jenny said.

Ziva pointed at the open paper cup and dark spill on the floor.

"But we spilt his coffee. Gibbs would not care if we spilt his milk. I am not sure Gibbs likes milk. This is his coffee!" she protested hotly.

McGee and Tony shared smiles. Jenny gave her friend an endearing look and cracked a half-smile. Ziva looked back and forth between them all, her brow slowly furrowing. She pursed her lips in question.

"Ziva, it's an—"

"Let me guess," she interrupted, rolling her eyes at McGee, "it is an _expression_."

Three heads nodded at her and she snorted in annoyance. Ziva glared at them all. How dare they act so superior! She would like to see them attempt to make sense of the sayings she used in Israel!

Giving them a good squinty-eyed look, she turned and marched back to her desk, giving them the evil-eye from her desk chair. She picked up a stapler and clicked it menacingly. Tony and McGee went back to staring at the Coffee mess. Jenny looked up and tilted her head over the bullpen.

The ding of the elevator sounded. Leroy Jethro Gibbs had arrived. He breezed around the corner and stopped when he saw everyone gathered. Ziva smirked.

Then, she leapt up from her chair, pointed, and yelled:

"Tony, Tim, and Jenny spilled your coffee!"

* * *


	15. Cat Got Your tongue?

_A/N: I did not want to post this one until I had some others written, and now I have, so it's time for another language in Americanisms! I planned on doing this one from the beginning, but it was a common request as well._

_The Idiom: Cat Got Your Tongue?_

_

* * *

_

"Ziva."

No answer.

"_Psssst_, Ziva!"

Still no answer. Special Agent Tony DiNozzo frowned at his partner's bent head. He crouched down at his desk and rested his chin on the metal, rolling a ball of paper tightly out of sight, preparing to flick it at her.

He looked down, raised the paper-wad, and squinted to take aim.

"Er…Ziva?" he asked hesitantly.

She had disappeared.

"Yes, Tony?" she asked casually from right behind him.

Startled, Tony bolted upright and promptly toppled out of his chair, crashing to the floor tangled up with it and sprawling out ungracefully at the sneaky Mossad officer's feet. She raised her eyebrow and smirked at him from her position above him.

Petulantly, he chucked the paper wad at her half-heartedly, taking a little comfort in hitting her square on her nose. She wrinkled it; he kept it to himself that he found it adorable and kittenish. He valued his life enough not to tell Ziva David she was as adorable as a kitty cat.

"DiNozzo. Why are you antagonizing me?" she asked calmly.

Too calmly, if you asked him.

He gave her a suspicious look before answering slowly.

"I was bored."

Ziva scowled at him.

"Honesty is not always the best policy, Tony," she informed him snippily, glaring. She folded her arms crossly. "You are supposed to be tracking down the Sergeant's past partners. Working, in other words, thought I know this is a foreign term to you."

Tony pushed himself up and dragged his weight up from the floor with a forlorn frown, leaning on the desk and dropping his head against it dramatically.

"I don't like it," he whined "It's a probie job!"

"McGee is the only one of us capable of breaking the algorithm for the case," Ziva corrected, flicking Tony in the ear.

"They keep hitting on me!"

He swatted her hand away and snapped playfully at it with his teeth. Then he looked up darkly and glared at her, his eyes menacing.

"Do not give me that look!" Ziva cried, looking outraged, "I am merely trying to save your butt from Gibbs. He will not be pleased if he finds you neglecting your work!"

"You're not the one contacting every flamboyantly gay man the sergeant was ever 'connected' with," Tony hissed darkly, standing up and towering over Ziva. She gave him a mock-saddened look and pursed her lips garishly.

Tony reached out, grabbed her arms, picked her up and placed her out of his way, shuffling past her to her desk. He tried to pull out her chair and sit down, but Ziva leapt in front of him deftly and stopped him, poking him backwards to the middle of the bullpen with a vicious glare.

"Do not ever do that again, Anthony," she growled.

"I want to trade jobs!" he whined snottily.

"No."

"I'll buy you a Berry Mango Madness…"

"I do not respond to bribery, my little hairy butt."

Tony paused momentarily and reached out to tweak her nose in retaliation.

"Do not provoke me!" Ziva warned loudly.

"Talking to gay men is a female's job;" Tony mumbled angrily, "Even Gibbs wouldn't make me do it. You watch. _He'll_ make you trade me."

Siva narrowed her eyes.

"I am sure Gibbs would find it highly amusing to watch you fend off the advances of homosexual men," she quipped darkly, "as long as he was not the recipient of their advances."

Ziva flicked her eyes over Tony's shoulder and ignored the bustle of people meandering around. She furrowed her brow slightly and glanced at Gibbs' desk.

"Where is Gibbs? He has disappeared,"

"He's with the Director. She's yelling at him about the INS mishap," tony said with a smirk.

Ziva looked puzzled, and frowned. She noticed Jenny coming down the stairs, sans Gibbs, and was confused. Jenny would not leave Gibbs alone in her office. Ziva looked back at Tony and forgot to mention this, she simply went ahead musing to herself.

"He has been gone too long. He should be storming around yelling for answers. What could he possibly be doing?"

Tony smirked and gave her a wicked look.

"Hopefully the Director," he said slyly.

Ziva's eyes only widened slightly.

"I assure you, Agent DiNozzo, he most certainly is _not_," Jenny's clipped, cold tone informed him from behind as she caught the tail end of the conversation.

The color drained completely from Tony's face as he flinched and slowly turned, his mouth falling open in shock and horror. Ziva found it funny, hilariously funny, but she schooled her features, reprimanding, and glared at him in support of Jenny.

Tony continued to stare at Jenny like his life was flashing before his eyes. Ziva, familiar with the deadly, threatening look on the redhead's face, was willing to bet DiNozzo was, in fact, about to die. Painfully.

Jenny gave Tony a steely glare and held a file out with two fingers until Tony finally reached hesitantly for it, gulping, still not making a sound.

Secretly delighted, Ziva whole-heartedly enjoyed the increasingly terrified look spreading over Tony's pale features as Jenny glared him down. Of all the things Tony could have said for Jenny to overhear, the one thing that she would not think was funny, or even be slightly amused about, was a reference to her sex life.

Particularly if it involved Leroy Jethro Gibbs.

Finally, Jenny spoke.

"When you locate Agent Gibbs," she said shortly, still as chill as ice, "let him know he's needed in MTAC."

Tony gulped. Ziva let a small smile creep over her mouth. Out of her peripheral vision, she caught Gibbs entering the bullpen from the other side, coffee in hand. He saw Jenny there, grunted in annoyance, and came to stand between Tony and Jenny, glaring at the Director.

"Playing Age—"

He stopped at the look on her face, closing his mouth tightly in a way Ziva had never seen him react before. Slowly, he raised his hand and whacked Tony twice as hard as usual, his eyes taking another moment to leave Jenny.

"What. Did. You. Say?" He asked through gritted teeth, and Ziva swore he sounded frightened.

Tony squeaked.

"What is the matter, Tony?" Ziva piped up, unable to suppress her smile. "Is there a cat on your tongue?"

Briefly, Jenny looked at her and furrowed her brow just slightly. Gibbs turned minutely and gave her a look, his forehead wrinkling a little. Tony managed to unstick his tongue.

"Ziva…it's 'cat got your tongue,'" he whimpered softly, correcting her.

She was too entertained by his predicament to care.

"Oh, _DiNozzo_," Jenny said lightly, but with way too much warning in her voice, "the last thing you have to worry about is a _cat_ getting a hold of your tongue," she narrowed her eyes and released her hold on the file. "Just wait until I do."

Jenny turned on her heel and left him standing there.

"Boss?" Tony squeaked, turning to Gibbs with a plea for help in his eyes.

Gibbs shook his head slowly, taking an ominous sip of his coffee. Ziva tapped Tony on his shoulder.

"When she is done, you will wish you had a cat on your tongue,"

"Ziva!" he snapped hoarsely, sounding panicked, "its _cat got your tongue_! It means—"

"I have noted that," Ziva said calmly, "I meant what I said."

She waited, pleased with the idea of what she would say to him next. Tony looked puzzled along with terrified now.

"Compared to what Jenny will inflict upon you, a cat sitting on your tongue would feel quite nice."

She was still smiling like a Cheshire when Gibbs slammed his coffee cup down and rounded on DiNozzo, his eyes darkening with sudden realization like he'd just worked it out.

"Dammit, DiNozzo, you made a sexual comment, didn't you?" he snarled.

* * *


	16. Don't Rock the Boat

_The Idiom: Don't Rock the Boat_

_

* * *

_

The elevator was a much too small, much too enclosed space for Leroy Jethro Gibbs to be yelling like he was. His shouting echoed off the four metal walls and magnified itself until he sounded like a very pissed, very scary robot god.

Very scared Special Agent Tony DiNozzo shrunk back against the wall, wishing he was anywhere else but here.

Mossad Officer Ziva David stood her ground expressionlessly, even though she was terrified herself, because it would be bad for a Mossad officer to look frightened by something as trivial as a yelling American Marine.

Except Ziva was very, very frightened of Gibbs at this moment. Mostly because he'd come straight from a tongue lashing from the Director and dragged them into the elevator. They had not been released these past ten minutes.

"I don't want to see you anywhere _BUT_ the squad room for a _MONTH_! No field work, no firing range, don't even go on _DATES_—yeah, DiNozzo, you heard me—keep your heads down and do NOTHING but paperwork—"

Ziva let out a strangled gasp.

"No!" she cried desperately, remembering the last time he'd restricted Tony and herself to merely paperwork. That had only been for a week, and McGee had ended up in therapy.

"Gibbs—"

"Shut-up, David," he growled, rounding on her with a glare. She swallowed. "You two don't have a say in the matter. Do you have any idea what kind of mess you just got this agency into? What the Director is DEALING WITH?"

"But _Gibbs_—" Ziva interrupted desperately.

Tony hissed at her loudly and obnoxiously to hush.

"For once it'd be a good idea to listen to DiNozzo," Gibbs snarled, smacking Tony on the back of the head without even looking at him. Tony yelped and cowered back into a corner, swallowing dramatically.

Childishly, Ziva stamped her foot. She'd been stoically dealing with the yelling until he ordered them confined to paperwork. She refused to deal with that.

"It was not my fault! It was Tony's fault!" she protested angrily.

Gibbs started yelling again, while Tony made a quiet noise of outrage.

"Was not! You started it, you said—"

"I did not think it would go that far! Besides, it was your idea to—"

"ZIVA! Stop blaming me! Can't you see Gibbs turning pur—"

"SHUT UP, THE BOTH OF YOU!" Gibbs roared.

Silence fell in the elevator.

The boss gave them one of the most hellatious glares either of them had ever seen. Clearly, he was bearing the brunt of blame from the Director and clearly this made him even less pleased with them than the incident already had.

"Gibbs, this is not fair—"

"Don't rock the boat, Ziva!" Tony pleaded desperately, almost moaning.

She whirled on him and glared.

"I am not going to do anything to his boat! Do you think I am crazy? We are not even near his boat, Tony!" she snapped.

Tony paused and looked at Gibbs. Ziva gave him a quizzical look, suddenly stopping. She felt she'd missed something, and turned around. She smacked into Gibbs, who'd crowded up to her with a menacing scowl.

"He means don't question my authority," Gibbs growled, glaring down at her from his height.

"Oh," Ziva said quietly, finally quieted under the glare this time. "I was not rocking the boat," she said hesitantly, scowling at the use of the idiom, "I was stating it is not fair to restrict us to paperwork when Tony is, in fact, the perpetrator—"

"That's rocking the boat," Gibbs growled.

"Well, Gibbs!" Ziva snapped, throwing her hands up. "Then I will rock it! This is all Tony's fault!"

Gibbs narrowed his eyes.

"Then explain."

He was met with two hesitant looks, the reason he was so flaming mad in the first place. The idiots refuse to explain themselves.

"Er," Tony cleared his throat.

"Never mind. I prefer the boat remain still," Ziva corrected swiftly, looking sheepish.

He glared in silence.

"May we go do our paperwork now?" Tony asked in a small, hopeful voice, like a child asking to be let out of time-out early.

Gibbs clenched his jaw and exploded at them:

"NOT UNTIL YOU TELL ME HOW YOU ENDED UP ON THE 5 O'CLOCK NEWS NAKED!"

* * *


	17. It's All Greek to Me

_The Idiom: It's All Greek to Me_

* * *

Special Agent Tony DiNozzo peaked over the top of his computer for the hundredth time that day, sending secret, silent SOS messages to his partner as she calmly worked across the bullpen. Ziva David had been staring coolly and quietly at her computer screen for an hour, apparently doing just fine with the algorithm they were attempting to break.

Tony shrunk down behind his computer again, turning glassy eyes back to his own. The letters, numbers, mini numbers, and awkward symbols meant nothing to him. They were the Probie's best friends—maybe even lovers—he knew, but the Probie had charmingly decided to call in sick today.

Stupid Probie. Since when was viral meningitis a viable excuse for 'sick' anyway?

The boss wanted this algorithm busted by five, or no one was going home. Abby was working on half of it, the 'hard part' she said, and Ziva and Tony had split the other half. Getting more and more frustrated, Tony squirmed in his seat, grabbed his hair, and darted his eyes around nervously.

It was four-fifty-five.

"ZIVA!" he cried loudly.

Unexpectedly, she jumped. He smirked; surprised he'd succeeded in catching her off guard. The glare he received was enough for him to content himself with gloating privately for the time being.

"Yes, Tony?" she asked, with a forced calm that came off very dangerously.

"Where's Gibbs?" he asked in a whisper, starting to stress himself out.

"I do not know," Ziva answered, unhelpfully, her eyes going back to her computer.

Tony gulped and checked his watch again. He fervently hoped wherever Gibbs was, he was in a lovely, flowery mood.

Unlikely.

As Tony stared, eyes glazing over, at his computer again, he was jerked suddenly out of his woeful stupor by Ziva banging repeatedly on her keyboard and yelling something very evil sounding in Hebrew.

With wide eyes, Tony peaked cautiously over his computer again.

"Erm. Ziva?" he asked slowly.

"I will kill this thing," she responded in a deadly voice, giving her computer a ruthless look.

Tony leapt up, glad for once that her death threat was directed at the Dell and not him, and scrambled over to her desk. He looked at her work and gave an internal sigh of relief; her computer was still as jumbled and incomprehensible as his.

"You're not getting anywhere either!" he sighed gleefully.

Ziva shook her head, dropping her shoulders.

"It's all Geek to me," she said mournfully.

Tony opened his mouth wide to correct her out of habit, and then paused. He broke into a wide grin and nudged her shoulder playfully.

"In this case, I guess you're right," he said, smiling wickedly, "wait 'til McIllness hears this one!"

* * *

_*Viral Meningitis is, in fact, a VERY viable excuse for being 'sick'. It's the less deadly of the two deadly meninigits strains. I thought I'd reinforce that. I am paranoid of meningitis. _


	18. In the Heat of the Moment

_The Idiom: In the Heat of the Moment_

_

* * *

_

"GIBBLETS! UNITE!"

Tony, Ziva, McGee, and even Ducky turned around in surprise as Abby burst into autopsy, her hands spread out before her in uncontainable excitement. She was covered in melting snow and her large bell earrings jingled happily as her head moved.

She started bouncing up and down excitedly, tinsel falling out of her pigtails, and grabbed Tony as he was closest, dragging him towards the doors. They swooshed open, and she beckoned madly for the others.

Eight pairs of eyes just stared at her.

"Abigail, my dear—" Ducky began, his brow furrowed.

"No time, Duck-man!" she cried, silencing him. She yanked Tony and he stumbled forward, almost face-planting at her feet in surprise.

"Is everything okay, Abby?" McGee asked.

"I'm not okay!" Tony said loudly, trying to keep his balance.

He was ignored by all.

The others started moving slowly towards the door, leaving Christmas cookies and tea behind on Ducky's desk as they hesitantly warmed towards Abby. She rolled her eyes and grabbed the next closest person to her as well, using unexpected strength to drag McGee and Tony out the door and halfway down the hall, leaving Ducky and Ziva to follow in confusion.

"You're going to miss it!" Abby cried, stamping a platform-booted foot.

"Miss what?!" Tony demanded, as Abby threw open the door for the stairwell and started dragging them towards the stairs.

Her answer, if she answered, was lost in the din of people who suddenly started to start speaking again.

"Abby, why don't we use the elevator?"

"Is someone hurt, Abby?"

"Where are we going?"

"YOU'RE HURTING MY ARM!"

"_Shush_!" Abby hissed, stopping them before the entrance to the garage. She put a finger to her pursed lips and looked at them with delighted eyes, turning the knob slowly. She jerked Ziva forward instead of Tony this time, counting on the Mossad officer to not give them away.

"The elevator would ding and they'd know we were there. We have to be quiet or we won't catch them," she giggled quietly, "I don't think they realized we were still here!" she added in a whisper, almost bursting with smiles.

She pushed open the door and crept out into the shadows directly next to it, beckoning to them quickly. Four sneaky people followed her eagerly, with only minimal hissing and scuffling from Tony and McGee. Abby led them all the way to the edge of the garage, where she stopped and curved her finger outwards.

One head on top of another, they peaked out cautiously to see what had worked the Goth into such a tizzy. Tony expected it was Santa. Ziva thought maybe a particularly cute squirrel. McGee was just glad she wasn't injured. Ducky was quite amused by the whole spectacle.

"_See_?!" Abby squealed the quietest squeal known to man, clapping silently and excitedly.

McGee's jaw dropped open. Ducky smirked. Tony's eyebrows shot up and he smiled wickedly. Ziva simply stared in mild shock. Abby bounced up and down excitedly behind them.

"What are they _doing_?!"

"It's called _kissing_, McStupid!"

"But…Gibbs…Gibbs doesn't kiss the _Director_."

"I told you so!" Tony began hissing gleefully, over and over again until Ziva whacked him in the back of the head.

"Yes he does! Yes he does McGee—LOOK!" Abby said, a little too loudly. They all shushed her violently.

It didn't matter. Gibbs and Jenny were clearly too busy molesting each other to hear a small cry of triumph from the likes Abby Scuito. Ducky stepped back from the fray, shaking his head with a small smile and retreating towards the door. Abby scrambled up to take his place, shivering slightly but smiling wider (if possible) all the same.

"The Director is giggling!" Tony hissed, sounding shocked.

"Maybe our silver-haired-fox is a good kisser!" Abby squealed quietly.

Both Tony and McGee made faces and groaned softly at the awkward thought.

Ziva half wished she could tell her friend that she was being watched. Jenny would be incredibly embarrassed if she were to find out a few of the biggest mouths in the agency were watching her manhandle Gibbs against his car.

At the same time, though, this was payback for the time Jenny had failed to inform her Gibbs was watching that time Ziva had tried on his glasses.

Tony titled his head with interest.

"There's definitely tongue in there," he said with a connoisseurs' eye.

"Ewww, Tony!"

"Grow up, McPuberty. This is what we call 'workplace cooperation'." Tony arched his neck out and squinted, trying to look closer. "Maybe he'll take her blouse off—"

He was wacked simultaneously by two annoyed females.

"Shut-up!" Ziva snapped.

"Gibbs is a gentleman!" Abby protested defensively, glaring.

"HA!" tony snorted, and was hit again for being so loud. He lowered his voice. "Ha! Hate to break it to you, Abs, but Leroy Jethro Gibbs is a human _male_,"

Abby glared harder, and Tony faltered off.

"A very nice, not at all un-gentlemanly one," he finished.

"Maybe they're drunk," McGee piped up, musing.

Tony rolled his eyes.

"Drunk on _what_, Tim?" Abby asked impatiently. "Casework?"

McGee shrugged defensively.

"I'm trying to figure out what would bring this on! It's out of character!"

"Maybe all that sexual tension just exploded. Like it was a 'in the heat of the moment' kind of thing," Tony suggested.

"But it is very cold outside," Ziva pointed out solemnly.

Abby giggled loudly, and then slapped her hand over her mouth. Everyone turned to look at Ziva. Ducky cleared his throat warningly from behind, but was ignored.

"Expression, _Zee_-_vah_," Tony informed her, "meaning their lust was too hot to handle."

"Like," McGee piped up, "if you kissed Tony after accomplishing something big. Heat of the moment."

Ziva looked outraged at the suggestion.

"I would _not_ kiss—"

"It was an example!" McGee hissed, panicking.

"Ignore him," Abby whispered, "Here, it's like, if you got really angry and STABBED Tony—"

"HEY!"

"Or if you found a bunch of naughty little spies in the corner and accidentally gouged all of their eyes out," a voice said sweetly from behind them.

Abby leapt into the three agents in front of her in frightened surprise and sent them all tumbling to the snowy and cold garage floor, staring up at the Director herself. She straightened up and smirked evilly at them. Gibbs stood next to her, looking much less amused, glaring.

"Where did you—"

"_How_ did you—"

"_El jefe_, you scared me—"

"Way to go, BOSS!"

Tony's was the only exclamation that was not seriously surprised to find the subjects of their observation suddenly standing behind them. Jenny's hand collided roughly with the back of his head. She narrowed her eyes at him and held up an index finger menacingly, exposing a long manicured nail.

"Gouged. Their. Eyes. _Out_," she repeated slowly.

"Go home. All of you." Gibbs ordered sharply.

Ziva stood up with dignity, looking harassed.

"It was _not_ in the heat of the moment!" she snapped, turning to her red-headed friend and crossing her arms, "You have much more self-control, Jenny!" she said. Jenny started to smile at the compliment but Ziva continued, "The _only_ reason you would french Gibbs like that would be because he _finally_ knocked before coming in your office!"

Jenny opened her mouth in outrage at Ziva's revelation. Jethro was supposed to think he was being kissed because he was irresitible! It was better for his ego!

Gibbs turned on Jenny and narrowed his eyes.

"ZIVA!" screeched Jenny, "THAT WAS A SECRET!"

* * *


	19. Apple of Your Eye

_the Idiom: Apple of Your Eye_

_

* * *

_

After the closing of a long, and in this situation grueling, case, Officer Ziva David liked nothing more than cozying up in autopsy with a little cup of tea and listening to Ducky reminisce about his days as an officer in the Royal Navy, or his jaunts with NCIS in Europe—or anything, really.

None of her other colleagues enjoyed Ducky's stories quite as much, though Jenny had much more liking for them than some. She only tended to listen when he talked of Europe, though, otherwise her eyes would glass over and she'd nod politely.

But Ziva loved Ducky's tales, whether true, tall, or just plain odd. She found his memoirs of his younger days entertaining and relaxing. So she snuck down here after her paperwork was done and fixed tea while he cleaned up autopsy, and waited for him to talk.

Although today, the chat was not about the past but about a certain lovely Dr. Hampton, whom Ducky seemed quite fond of.

"She is just a wonderful woman, Ziva," he said warmly, taking a sip of his tea.

Ziva smiled warmly.

"I thought she was very nice when I met her. I am glad you found someone who's company you enjoy, Ducky," she said sincerely.

Ducky beamed, his eyes twinkling.

"It's rather odd that I cannot seem to stop thinking about her! Though it must be rather tiring to hear all of her virtues extolled over and—"

"Not at all," Ziva broke in, smiling, "I like hearing how you think of her. It is very sweet."

Ducky's smile turned into a little laugh.

"My dear, I can't fathom why Tony seems so frightened of you. You really are quite the lady at heart, aren't you?"

"Do not tell Tony!" Ziva protested, laughing with him.

Ducky promised he would not, and they sipped tea quietly.

"Perhaps she is someone you would like to settle down with," Ziva mused, tilting her head at him. "You hold her in such high esteem."

"_There's_ an idea," Ducky said nicely, nodding. Ziva leaned back thoughtfully. "It would ensure that I wouldn't lose her," he joked, grinning goofily.

"Very true," Ziva nodded solemnly, "I get the feeling Jordan has become the Grapefruit of your Eye."

Ducky laughed heartily.

"My dear, I believe the expression you're looking for is 'apple'. 'Apple of my eye'," he paused, and Ziva rolled her eyes good-naturedly, taking a patronizing sip of her tea, "though Grapefruits are much bigger and in my opinion much more enjoyable. So in _theory_—"

"I am right!" Ziva triumphed.

"Touché, Ziva."

Ducky smiled and she returned it. She did not at all mind being corrected by the good doctor.

* * *

_This might be one of the cutest, fluffiest things I've ever swallowed my pride enough to write. But the phrase was so DUCKY._


	20. Beat a Dead Horse

_The Idiom: Beat a Dead Horse_

* * *

Ziva David clutched a paperclip menacingly and glared at her colleagues as they continued to make her morning unpleasant with their incessant bickering. Tony would not cease his mocking of McGee and McGee would not take the noble route and just ignore him.

Why must they constantly pick at each other like children?

"Tony, for the last time, I'm sorry I got you in trouble," McGee snapped whinily.

"Would it have been so hard to warn me, McTraitor? Just a little gesture or a facial expression maybe, or even a shout, 'Hey, Tony, friend, Gibbs is RIGHT BEHIND YOU!' Huh, Tim?"

Tony glared at McGee threateningly and McGee rolled his eyes with a shrug. He was tired of addressing the issue.

"I ask you to do one simple thing—one thing, McIncompetant, and what do you do? You play your MMORPG game instead of warning me," Tony glared harder and more threateningly, "You are a bad probie. BAD."

Ziva almost broke her paperclip in half. This had been going on for ten minutes.

"Will you desist, Tony?" she hissed in annoyance. "You are simply mad you got caught!"

Tony thrust his finger out towards McGee, pointing stiffly.

"It's his fault, Zee-vah! He said he'd keep watch! He said he had my back!" Tony turned from her and glared at McGee. "He is a McLiar Probie."

McGee frowned and shook his head. He felt bad for disappointing Tony, but he hadn't wanted to be involved in the first place. Still, he wished Tony didn't think he was so un-cool all the time.

"I am so disappointed in you McGee."

"Tony! Enough, all right?" McGee shouted, drawing a few curious looks from the other agents. He quieted down immediately and summoned a glower for his colleague.

"I thought Gibbs would take longer than he did so I zoned off. I said sorry, okay? But you shouldn't have been drawing on his desk with the Director's lipstick!"

"SHE TOLD ME TO!" Tony squealed, his cheeks flushing.

"Tony, you idiot, she ordered you to do it to see your reaction!" Ziva interrupted, rolling her eyes. Why on earth would he follow an order like that anyway? Jenny certainly hadn't thought he would _actually_ write 'Diane Was Here' in Passion Fruit Pucker lipstick on Gibbs' desk. She'd just thought it would be amusing to watch his face drain of color at the request.

Tony, for some inexplicable, psychotic reason, had been to the letter 'H' before Gibbs slapped him silly and dragged him off for a serious talk, probably because he was concerned about Tony's choice of writing utensil.

Tony gaped at Ziva.

"Jenny's _mean_," he decided finally, turning a glare back to McGee, "But that does not excuse YOU!"

"TONY!" groaned Ziva and McGee.

"It doesn't! You should have seen him coming and given me time to escape! But nooo—"

"DiNozzo!" McGee yelled, slamming his hands down, "SHUT-UP! Get over it. There's no need to beat a dead horse."

Ziva gasped.

"Tony!" she cried, whirling in her chair towards him and momentarily forgetting the conversation. "Why would you inflict torture on a dead horse? That is sadistic!" she informed him with a scowl.

"Now _you're_ calling me sadistic?!" Tony yelped, pointing at Ziva.

"If you are beating dead animals, then yes!"

"Ziva, I just meant for Tony to drop the subject, it's an expression—"

Ziva held up a hand with narrowed eyes and glared at Tony, as if it were his personal fault she was again tripped up by Americanisms. She lifted the tube of Jenny's lipstick off of her desk and held it up menacingly.

"If you do not leave McGee alone, I shall be forced to beat you senseless with this."

* * *

_I have an Algebra Quiz tomorrow that makes/breaks my grade. Sympathy, please._


	21. Once in a Blue Moon

_The Idiom:_ _Once in a Blue Moon_

* * *

Ziva slipped into the elevator outside of Abby's lab with a yawn, her coat thrown over her arm. She was off to say goodnight to Jenny before finally leaving after a ruthless case. Abby had been glad to see her before they all finally left to go home, and now Ziva planned on trying to persuade Jenny to leave as well.

The doors closed and she leaned against the wall, closing her eyes briefly to sleep. The doors dinged open and she startled, stepping aside so the other person could enter. Leroy Jethro Gibbs paused and looked at her suspiciously before entering without a word. He glanced at the buttons and didn't press one.

Sleepily, Ziva smirked at him. His destination was the same as hers. He turned his head slightly and glared darkly at her, sensing the smirk. She wiped it off of her face and stood silently. As the doors opened to the catwalk and both of them tried to step out, Gibbs' foot came squashing down on hers and she let out a hiss of pain involuntarily.

Quickly, he removed his foot and stepped aside, holding the elevator.

"Sorry, Ziva," he grunted instantly, letting her off first.

Ziva nodded and was half-way to Jenny's office before she heard the elevator doors slide shut and suddenly realized that Gibbs had just _apologized_. She stopped in her tracks and stared at the entrance to Cynthia's office. Then, before Gibbs could catch up with her, she leapt forward and barged in, glad Cynthia's office was empty and the door to Jenny's was opened invitingly.

"JENNY!" Ziva yelled, dashing through the doorway.

Jenny looked up from her computer; her glasses perched delicately on her nose, and lifted an eyebrow at the outburst.

Ziva gave her redheaded friend a serious look.

"Do you know what just happened to me in the elevator?" she asked ominously.

Jenny's eyes took on a wary look.

"Is this story work-appropriate?" she asked drily.

Ziva nodded curtly. Jenny nodded to indicate she should go on.

"Gibbs apologized to me!"

Jenny pursed her lips in surprise. That was a cause for chaos, indeed. The United Nations should probably be called and informed.

"I'm flabbergasted," Jenny announced with a small smile.

"As am I," Ziva responded, looking solemn and awed. "The moon must be blue."

Jenny's brow furrowed just slightly.

"The moon? Blue?" she asked.

Ziva nodded emphatically.

"Or is it purple? I do not remember. Regardless, Gibbs has only ever apologized once in a blue—or possibly purple—moon, though I would say blue is more common than purple as it's a primary color—"

"Ziva," Jenny interrupted with a laugh, "you've spent too much time with Abby."

Ziva closed her mouth in the middle of her ramble and made a face. Her friend was right. She usually never went on so fast.

"I was simply attempting to get it right," she defended.

"You have the idea," Jenny encouraged, "It's 'Once in a Blue Moon', but it doesn't mean the moon is actually blue," she explained.

Ziva nodded, much more amicable to Jenny correcting her.

"If the moon ever did turn blue, though, it would have something to do with Gibbs," she joked conspiratorially, right as the man in question breezed through the door with his characteristic omnipotent glare.

H stopped in his tracks and looked at them both carefully, as if weighing his options.

"Jen," he greeted casually. Ziva turned to look at him triumphantly.

"I accept your apology," she informed him primly.

He glared. Jenny leaned back in her seat and swept her glasses off her face, sticking one of the corners between her lips with smirk.

"What did you apologize for, Agent Gibbs?" she asked teasingly.

"I stepped on her foot," he answered grimly.

"Ah," a look of realization dawned on Jenny's face and she gave him a knowing look before flicking her eyes back to her Israeli friend, the look on her face saying that his explanation certainly explained the apology.

"Jethro's had a bit of a traumatic experience with stepping on women's toes."

* * *


	22. Curiosity Killed the Cat

_The Idiom: Curiosity Killed the Cat_

* * *

"I do not think this is a particularly good idea," Mossad Officer Ziva David stated, as she stood at the forensics lab's computer station, staring down.

Forensic Specialist Extraordinaire Abby Scuito paused in her re-wiring work and looked up at her Israeli friend, smirking slightly. She shrugged and removed the last piece of tape from her mouth, answering after a moment:

"I just want to see what they get up to all alone in that dark office," she stated with a Cheshire cat grin.

"Work?" Ziva suggested.

Abby snorted.

"Is that would _you_ would be _doing_?" Abby asked, suggestion evident in her voice.

"Yes," Ziva answered, a little confused.

Abby sighed. She was really going to have to sit Ziva down and school her in the ways of sexual innuendo at some point. You would think a highly trained spy would catch her simple insinuation that Gibbs and the Director were definitely going at it in her office.

Abby dusted off her hands and her behind and whirled around, clicking buttons until the newly installed and named 'FlowerPowerCam' appeared on the screen. Delivered to Jenny with an anonymous note this morning, the bouquet of sunflowers was actually equipped with a tiny camera Abby was going to use to spy.

"You are invading Jenny's privacy," Ziva warned.

"I promise I won't give it to Tony. This is for my own benefit."

"How can this possibly benefit you, Abs?" Ziva asked exasperatedly. Abby gave her a patronizing look.

"It will keep me sane. You see, Miss Ziva David, I simply can't go on without knowing anymore," she said calmly, adjusting the zoom so the whole of Jenny's office besides the desk was visible. Momentarily taking a leave of her senses, Ziva frowned.

"What if they do it behind the desk?" she asked, and Abby turned to her with a serious frown.

"Excellent point, Ziva," she said, starting to think/

Ziva could have kicked herself. If Jenny ever discovered who was behind this, providing she ever discovered anything at all was up, she would torture them both painfully and slowly.

"Abby," she pleaded, Do you—"

"I'm just curious," Abby soothed, waving her hand. She wished Ziva would lighten up.

"Curiosity set fire to the cat!"

Abby blinked in shock at Ziva before she realized what the other woman meant.

"Er, it's Curiosity _killed_ the cat," she corrected, and when she saw the look on Ziva's face, continued swiftly, "but yours is really good, too—hey, look!"

The office door had opened. A Couple appeared on the screen and immediately stumbled to the couch in Jenny's office, limbs thrashing.

Ziva gave the screen a wary look, Abby leaned in closer. Her gasp made Ziva step closer as well, just out of curiosity, even if it might set her on fire or kill her, whichever. Her eyes widened slightly.

"That is _not_ Gibbs and Jenny," she stated.

Abby shook her head slowly, looking embarrassed.

"Palmer," she whispered, horrified.

"Agent LEE!" Ziva cried, leaping backwards.

Abby turned away and gave Ziva a wry look.

"That explains a _lot_," she quipped, and Ziva just shook her head in disgust.

* * *


	23. Let Your Hair Down

_The Idiom: Let Your Hair Down_

* * *

Ziva David stood watching as McGee and Tony violently pegged snowballs at each other outside in the NCIS parking lot. Most of the agents, since there was an appalling lack of cases at the moment, had trekked outside to participate in an agency-wide snowball fight.

Ziva just watched them all, her stance stiff. She did not feel like grown adults should be playing in the snow. She did not trust snow, either. She was not familiar with it, having grown up in a rather hot and dry desert home.

Even Ducky was playing, though, and she was starting to feel awkward just standing on the sidelines. She watched as Palmer was mown down by a volley of snowballs from the logistics department. She allowed a small smile as McGee managed to whack Tony twice in the face while he wasn't prepared.

Tony turned and saw her smiling, a scowl appearing on his snow soaked face. He bent down and picked up a snowball, patting it together with a determined look. Ziva narrowed her eyes. He would die if he threw it at her.

As Tony lifted his arm to chuck it, a snowball went sailing past Ziva's ear with flawless precision and hit him square in the nose, much to his surprise. Her eyebrows going up, Ziva turned to find Gibbs walking up behind her, brushing his hands together arrogantly with a small smirk on his face, clearly the thrower of the snowball of death.

"BOSS!" Tony yelled, sounding injured. "Why are you taking _her_ side?" he whined.

"I am not playing," Ziva informed Gibbs, turning towards him. "I am observing."

Gibbs shrugged a little and stood next to her. He had been inside for a bit after they all left, and Ziva was slightly surprised to see he had come out, and more so to watch him peg Tony with a snowball.

"They are acting foolish," she stated, glaring as Tony dove at McGee and they went down into the snow, wrestling childishly.

"Ah, Ziva," grunted Gibbs, shaking his head. "Sometimes you gotta let your hair down."

Furrowing her brow deeply, Ziva reached up and tugged her hair out of its tight ponytail, trailing her fingers through it as she wrapped the elastic around her wrist.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs gave her the strangest look she'd ever seen, and she shrugged.

"I prefer it up while I am working, to keep it out of the way, but," she paused, sensing she had made a mistake somewhere if the look he was giving her was any indication. She had followed his order; had she done it wrong somehow? Did he want her to put her hair a certain way?

Why was he concerned with her hair, anyway?

Gibbs rolled his eyes at the bamboozled look on her face and glared at her, as if that would make her understand.

"Go play in the snow," he ordered gruffly. "Kick DiNozzo's ass."

* * *


	24. Slap on the Wrist

_A/N: I really, really apologize for neglecting this story. I went to update, and then realized...I had nothing to update. After that school attacked me (viciously, I might add :/) and I couldn't seem to get a moment to breathe. That, and Paris Nights is demanding all my attention. I will update faster this time though! Promise:]_

_The Idiom: Slap on the Wrist_

* * *

"Gibbs is going to be in a very bad mood," Mossad Liaison Ziva David noted grimly as she watched the Boss disappear into the Director's office.

Her partner, Very Silly Agent DiNozzo, snorted from behind the GSM he was reading and peeked at her loftily.

"As opposed to the flowery mood he's been in all week?" he said, rolling his eyes.

Ziva glared at him, jabbing a finger pointedly at the catwalk and giving the direction of the Director's office an ominous look.

"He is going to be in an even worse mood when she is finished with him," she warned darkly, turning her dark eyes on Tony, "and I hope he takes it out on you."

"Me?" squeaked Tony, smacking his magazine down and looking affronted. "I've been nice to you this week!"

She glared at him for a moment, and then conceded the validity of his statement with a small nod.

"But!" she said, holding up a finger, chastising. "You have not been nice to McGee."

"I have to been nice to McProbiePants!"

Ziva lifted a dark eyebrow.

"I have been nice…er to McProbiePants!"

She smirked, glancing over at McGee's computer. He was in Abby's lab helping her with yet another algorithm that seemed determined to thwart Gibbs' attempts to solve a case, and Tony had not been able to bother him for at least two hours.

"If you consider gluing a stuffed bunny to his computer screen 'nicer'," she said quietly.

Tony glared at her.

"Fine," he conceded, "I haven't been good. So what? Gibbs still isn't going to take his anger out on me to spare the _probie_,"

"Gibbs likes McGee," Ziva said with a shrug.

Tony looked offended at the very idea.

"He likes me too!"

Ziva just gave him a look that made him question the statement intensely. He even got a little paranoid about it. Gibbs _did_ like him, right? Gulping, Tony looked up at the Director's scary office. He started to get worried. What if Gibbs did take out his anger on Tony's head…?

"Why is he in trouble again?" he asked nervously, looking back at Ziva.

"Altercation with news channel five," Ziva answered promptly. And rather vaguely, in Tony's opinion. He squinted his eyes at her.

"Did he hit someone?"

Ziva shook her head.

"Shoot someone?" Tony asked a little more apprehensively.

Again, she shook her head.

"Er…said one of the seven words you can't say on TV on TV?"

Ziva looked a little confused.

"Nevermind. He didn't do any of those?"

"He did not," Ziva said.

Tony furrowed his brow, and then shrugged lightly.

"Oh. Well then it can't be that bad. Jenny will just give him a slap on the wrist and we'll all be fine."

Ziva rolled her eyes.

"I do not think Jenny will slap Gibbs on his wrist. He is not a dog, and she is not childish enough to resort to physical violence."

Tony stared at her silently.

"Ziva," he said slowly, and she looked at him sharply, fully aware of what was coming. She narrowed her eyes. "It's, er, another idiom, it means to reprimand someone lightly with no real consequence—"

"I know what it means," Ziva snapped, even though she clearly had not. Tony smirked.

"By the way," he said loudly, looking at her pointedly, "Jenny _would_ to resort to physical violence. I saw her hit Gibbs with her purse once. Don't know why, but I'm working on getting that Intel,"

"Regardless," Ziva growled, glaring at him. He shrugged. It wasn't his fault she couldn't get her languages straight. "Jenny will not be slapping him on the wrist, idiomatically or physically. She will be doing much worse. And Gibbs _will_ be in a bad mood."

"Well what the hell did he do?" Tony demanded impatiently. "If he didn't shoot, hit, or curse someone from channel 5, what's the problem?"

"He took the redheaded weather girl out to dinner."

* * *


	25. Drop of a Hat

_The Idiom: Drop of a Hat_

_

* * *

_Ziva David, Mossad Liaison Officer, glared at Anthony DiNozzo's apartment door as she willed it to open.

Gibbs had gifted her with the task of retrieving Tony after he failed to answer two home-phone calls and three cell-phone calls. She had not asked for the task, nor did she want it. Gibbs had simply ordered her, mainly because she would be more successfully in dragging him to the early morning crime scene than McGee.

For the fourth time, she banged loudly on his door, this time adding a shout of 'TONY' that could be heard probably all the way to Tel-Aviv itself. She wasn't going to wait much longer. If he didn't open his door in five seconds, she would kick it down.

Five. Four. Three. Two. One.

Nonchalantly, Ziva David aimed her foot expertly just below the apartment's doorknob and kicked hard; shaking the door and watching it bounce open with minimal shattering of the wood. With a satisfied smirk, she entered his pizza-ridden apartment, giving only a fleeting thought to the idea that she could have simply picked the lock with a hairpin.

That wouldn't be any fun.

Ziva marched through the apartment and into the bedroom, quietly pausing in the doorway. Typical. He was simply asleep in his bed, sprawled out over all of the space, the sheets all tangled and wrapped around him.

Smiling wickedly, Ziva crept up to his bed and leaned down to eye level, watching him twitch peacefully in his sleep and smiling indulgently. She lifted an eyebrow…

…and licked his ear.

"GAH!" Tony shrieked girlishly, rocketing upwards and then promptly tumbling backwards off of his bed.

He landed with a crash on the other side of it and groaned in pain. Ziva hopped on his bed and crawled across it, tilting her head with interest as she peeked down at him. He rubbed his head tenderly and looked up at her, scowling.

"ZIVA!"

"Tony," she responded nicely.

He glared.

"What is wrong with you? You can't just break into my—you did break in didn't you?" he broke off, looking suddenly sheepish and nervous, "I mean, you came over this morning? You weren't here last night? We didn't…you know…"

Ziva lifted a dark eyebrow at him with a smirk.

"You do not remember what happened last night?" she asked lightly, trying to make him uncomfortable.

"Er," he responded "Well…I had a lot of…alcohol."

"Oh," Ziva said. "I did break in this morning," she said matter-of-factly, switching to an upright position and glaring down at him. "And we did not 'you-know', though I am not sure I know what 'you know' is."

"It's—"

"I do not care," Ziva interrupted, holding up a hand. "Gibbs is going to kick your ass when you get to the crime scene."

"Crime scene?"

"The one you were supposed to be at an hour ago. The one we attempted to call you five times about. The one—"

"I get it," Tony grumbled slowly sitting up and looking glum. "How pissed is Gibbs?"

"Very pissed," Ziva answered brightly, smiling. "Considering you are his senior agent and you are always bragging that you are able to be at a crime scene and ready to rumble at the throw of a cap—"

"I've never said that," Tony said, furrowing his eyebrows, looking confused. "Throw of a cap? What?"

Ziva looked confused now.

"That is it, yes? Throw of a cap? You can be ready like…" she paused and snapped her fingers, "like that?"

"_Ohhhhhh_," Tony sighed, realization dawning on his face. "You mean 'drop of a hat'."

Ziva stared at him silently, and then scowled.

"I mean throw of a cap!" she insisted, chucking a pillow at him. "Now get your hairy butt up and face the wrath of Gibbs!"

* * *


	26. Piece of Cake

_The Idiom: A Piece of Cake_

* * *

"There are many things we can do with this tape," Abby Scuito stated formally, her hands folded in front of her.

Next to her, Ziva David nodded solemnly.

It was a credit to their professional (and devious) talents that they did not laugh hysterically at the video before them.

"Tony and the Boss Man would never want this distributed to say…every major agent employed at NCIS. Past and present."

"Certainly not," Ziva agreed.

"We can have whatever we want," Abby stated, "If we pick the right one to blackmail."

Ziva nodded curtly, tilting her head a little at the tape.

"But who?" Abby mused.

"Gibbs," Ziva said automatically.

Abby shivered.

"I don't think I want to blackmail _el jefe_."

"Gibbs has more ground to lose if people see this," Ziva pointed out, "He will lose his scariness."

Abby nodded amiably.

"Very true, but Gibbs is immune to manipulation."

"I maintain he would fold if we show him we have possession of this," Ziva said.

"Tony will crack faster. Tony would be more fun to control," Abby countered.

"I disagree," Ziva said, convinced herself that it would be more liberating to have Gibbs in their power.

"Hmmmmm," Abby sighed.

"Hmmmmm," Ziva added.

At the same moment, they tilted their heads at the screen, which was nothing other than a ten minute feed of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs and his senior field agent, very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo, asleep in their car on a surveillance mission—asleep meaning using each other as man pillows.

It was very cute and cuddly.

Hence the blackmailing opportunities.

"I vote Tony," Abby said finally, turning to her Mossad assassin partner in crime.

Ziva shook her head.

"It is already a piece of tea to control Tony," she said, "I vote Gibbs."

Abby dissolved into giggles, the first break of seriousness between them in fifteen minutes.

"Piece of cake, Ziva. It's a piece of _cake_. You confused it with a _cup_ of tea, which means—"

"Then you agree," Ziva broke in sternly, pointing to the screen where Tony's sleeping figure snuggled up to Gibbs and snored loudly. The sleeping Gibbs rested his head on Tony's head.

"We blackmail Gibbs."

Giggling still, Abby nodded, her pigtails bobbing. Her green eyes lit up and she grasped Ziva's hand.

"There's one more person we have to let in," she said in a whisper, "then it really will be a piece of tea!"

* * *

_...To Be Continued (in the next update)..._

_...and there's a background story to this idiom, and the next! See note at end of next chapter:]_

* * *


	27. Cup of Tea

_The Idiom: A Cup of Tea (Contintuation of: A Piece of Cake)_

* * *

NCIS Director Jennifer Shepard had decided she was bored. She had no paperwork, no one to yell at, and no international crises to deal with, which was why she had resorted to practicing her aim in flicking bits of paper, so as to better annoy a certain former partner of hers when he wasn't looking.

She nearly jumped out of her seat when he office door burst open, grabbing for something to make herself look professional and busy as she looked up, narrowing her eyes.

She expected to find the aforementioned Agent Gibbs. She did not. She raised a surprised eyebrow instead at Abby Scuito and Ziva David, the former who promptly asked:

"Jenny, why are you holding a banana?"

"Paperwork," she answered immediately, deadpan.

Abby and Ziva stared at her. She glared back.

"Right. Okay," Abby said brightly, moving on. She shuffled over to the door in her bulky platforms and pushed it closed. Ziva darted to the conference table and picked up Jenny's clicky thing.

"What's going on?" Jenny asked suspiciously, laying down the banana. She made mental note to pay attention to what she grabbed to look professional next time, and then a another mental note to find out why there was a banana on her desk.

"The coup of the century," Abby responded dramatically.

Ziva nodded vigorously when Jenny looked to her.

Jenny stood up slowly, coming around her desk. She folded her arms and leaned against it.

"Officer David and I were bored," Abby announced shamelessly, "So we went through the entire log of surveillance videos, ever, and stumbled across something entertaining—Ziva, if you will,"

Ziva nodded and pointed the clicker at Jenny's flat screen, bringing up the video feed from Abby's lap.

Jenny gazed at the paused screen cap of Jethro and DiNozzo asleep in a car, obviously slacking on their jobs.

"I see," Jenny said.

"Oh, no, you don't," Abby said deviously, "You haven't seen the best part," she added wickedly.

"With this video in our possession, we own two of your agents," Ziva announced, pressing play.

Jenny tilted her head a little, and watched. Her eyes lit up as the two sleeping men shifted around over the period of time, eventually ending up laying all over each other in the front seat. Tony's arm came amusingly close to Jethro's cheek.

Ziva paused the feed as Jethro's head fell onto DiNozzo's shoulder.

Jenny smirked.

"After strenuous debate, we have decided Gibbs is the best choice for blackmail," Abby announced.

"We thought you might like being in on it," Ziva said, "and we know for a fact Gibbs will be easy to manipulate if you allow us to incorporate you. He, of course, will not know that you've already seen this, meaning the look on his face after we use him and he finds out you saw it will be priceless."

The two women beamed proudly at her, clearly amused with their plan.

Jenny nodded approvingly. She knew being director would pay off eventually.

Still, she could play hard to get.

"Before I agree to anything, I suggest you tell me what you plan on making him do."

"Bake us cookies," Abby announced, at the same time Ziva said:

"Give Fornell a hug."

Jenny's eyebrows went up. She was suddenly much less bored. She couldn't decide which one she wanted to see more.

"Oh, I don't know," she mused.

"Jenny," began Ziva nicely, "I know blackmail is not your cup of cake; you prefer force/coercion—"

"ZIVA!" interrupted Abby, hitting the Mossad officer lightly on the back of her head. Ziva proceeded to look affronted. "We just went over this! It's cup of _tea_, and piece of _cake_!"

"I am sorry!" Ziva burst out. "You know what I mean!" she shouted, pointing at Jenny.

Jenny laughed. Abby pressed play on the video again, as if tempting the Director to join them.

"We'll let you choose, Jenny: Fornell or cookies?"

Conceding to the puppy-dog eyes of both women, Jenny gave a wicked grin.

"How about both?"

* * *

_Now for the background story! The idea comes from an episode of Dancing with the Stars (anyone watch? I know Aly does...) Edyta, one of the femal professional dancers, stated in an interview that the dance was "No cup of cake" and tried to fix herself saying "a piece of tea". It was hilarious. I had to use it. This happened several years ago. I am still amused by it. _


	28. Doozy

_The Idiom: Doozy (not technically an 'idiom', but a word that would confuse someone learning English._

_

* * *

_

Ziva David yawned.

She had been at NCIS all night, completing paperwork. It was the early Monday morning. No one had been here in a few days, save the weekend duty agents. She had been assigned a mountain of paperwork simply because she had pushed Tony down a garbage shoot on Friday.

She grumbled to herself, remembering the chewing out she'd gotten from Gibbs. Who knew he cared if she covered Tony in garbage?

Ziva David yawned again. She had missed out on dinner with a friend and a date this weekend, due to paperwork.

She contemplated pushing Tony down another garbage shoot…and blaming it on McGee.

She smiled.

The elevator went off loudly, and she heard Tony's obnoxious yelp from the corridor. She groaned, annoyed that the object of her annoyance had arrived back at work after being able to enjoy his weekend.

"Zeeee-vah!" He sing-songed, coming to a bouncing stop in front of her desk.

She looked up at him darkly, and noticed McGee was trailing in behind him, looking wiped out tired and a little drunk.

"What did you do to him?" she demanded instantly, standing up menacingly.

"McGee and I went to the fair!" Tony informed her excitedly. "There was popcorn and music and games—Probie won a stuffed bunny for his sister, isn't that sweet, Ziva? Anyways, there was also this—"

"Stop yelling," McGee grumbled.

Ziva glared at Tony.

"You got him drunk," she accused.

"Did not!"

She glared.

"Only a little," Tony backtracked.

"He spiked all five of my slushies," McGee groaned, his head falling on his desk.

Tony quailed under Ziva's look.

"I had to!" he protested. "McChicken wouldn't get on the Ferris Wheel unless he was drunk!"

"I hate Ferris Wheels," moaned McGee. "They're so high up."

"Yes, Probie, excellent observation," Tony broke off as Ziva came around her desk.

"You have incapacitated the one person I do not want to kill while at work," she growled, pointing to McGee. "That Ferris wheel must have been a real floozy—"

"Did she just say floozy?" McGee mumbled, sounding confused.

Tony burst out laughing.

"She sure did, McHangover! When are you going to start getting stuff right? Ziva, the all-American word you are looking for is '_doozy'_, meaning—"

Tony broke off with a girlish squeak as Ziva pushed him to the ground and stepped on his chest, her knife appearing out of nowhere. She held it loosely in her hand, the point targeted at his heart. He gulped.

"I prefer floozy," she snapped.

"Kay," Tony chirped.

"Officer David!"

Ziva flinched at the sound of Gibbs' angry voice. She swallowed, cursing inwardly. Gibbs snatched her hand behind her back and twisted her arm.

"What did I say?" he asked.

She clenched her teeth.

"No more trying to hurt Tony," she repeated like a school child.

"Go to your corner," Gibbs snapped, sitting down at his desk.

He wished he'd put extra espresso in his coffee. He already felt like a school principal _again_.

* * *


	29. Jump the Gun

_The Idiom: Jump the Gun_

* * *

"I do not understand why Gibbs is mad at me," Ziva David stated loudly from the corner of the elevator as her partner entered on his way to Abby's lab with an evidence bag.

Anthony DiNozzo, having been ordered not to talk to the Mossad Officer by a higher, scarier power, remained silent.

He felt her evil, killer stare boring into his back. Probably burning through his soul.

"I did nothing wrong."

"You ruined the interrogation!" Tony blurted out.

"In Israel, making a man cry is not considered 'ruining' an interrogation."

"You're in America, Zee-vah," Tony said, glancing at her, "Why do we have to keep telling you that? Did you take Geography as a child, or does Mossad only teach Advanced Hide and Seek?"

Tony cackled with laughter at his own joke.

He suddenly felt her small and wrap around his throat and squeaked.

"There are no cameras in here," she said mildly, threatening him.

"He's mad because he didn't want the suspect to see what you showed him. You played all your cards; now we have nothing. You threw off Gibbs' groove." Tony blurted.

"Gibbs does not have a _groove_."

"Fine, you messed up his plan," Tony rolled his eyes. "Plus, you're not allowed to bite suspects."

"I did not!" Ziva protested, jerking her hand away from Tony's neck and retreating to the corner Gibbs had ordered her to stay in. The elevator halted to a stop and Tony quickly flicked the emergency stop, not wanting to be caught talking to the Officer-in-the-doghouse.

"There are teeth marks on his ear that weren't there before," Tony pointed out.

Ziva shut her mouth and glared daggers at the back of his Italian head.

"I do not think I did a bad thing," she said through gritted teeth, "I resent being banished to the elevator. He knows we are onto him now, and now he has to sit there---"

"You jumped the gun, Ziva!" shouted Tony, turning to glare at her. He looked panicked. "Stop questioning me, stop complaining! You'll get me in trouble!"

"I did not even have my gun!" Ziva shouted back, ignoring him, "And I would not jump over it in an interrogation, what would the benefit, TONY?" she demanded.

Tony flicked the emergency switch on, fed up.

"I didn't mean you jumped over it, Ziva, I meant you went to fast or…argh!"

He all but shrieked as the elevator door slid open to revel someone, waiting.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs glared at him lividly.

He pointed at Ziva.

"Were you talking to her?" he asked.

Tony whimpered. Ziva leaned back against the elevator and smirked.

* * *


	30. Penny for your Thoughts

_The Idiom: Penny for Your Thoughts_

_

* * *

_

Ziva David has decided her boss looked stressed. It was late, on a weekend, and most NCIS agents had gratefully returned home to their families. Team Gibbs had weekend duty this time around, and apparently Gibbs had simply decided not to go home.

Tony had already departed, darting out while attempting to change into a football jersey with Greek letters on it. McGee has rushed off to pick up his sister, and Abby had disappeared early in full Goth regalia—well, fuller than usual.

Ziva didn't have anywhere to go. She was waiting on a call from Tel-Aviv, which she needed to complete a profile she was working on for the Director. So she stayed.

And so did Gibbs.

He looked grumbly. Instead of doing something useful, Ziva was trying to figure out what was wrong with him.

She knew it was not Jenny. Jenny was in Prague at a security conference, and Gibbs was not in charge, thus they could not be fighting or at odds with one another unless she had called specifically to incite him.

It wasn't Ducky because Gibbs and Ducky were getting along just fine.

It wasn't…well, Ziva couldn't think of an explanation beyond that. Their hardest case this week has consisted of an Academy student accused of killing the Navy Goat.

Throwing caution to the winds, Ziva decided to ask him what was wrong. Perhaps he just needed someone to talk to.

She snorted inwardly.

Fat chance.

"Quarter for your thoughts, Gibbs?" she asked quiet, trying to sound casual.

He grunted and looked up at her over his computer, one eyebrow furrowing slightly. He glared at her for a moment.

"Penny," he stated.

Ziva's brow furrowed.

"You are thinking about pennies?" she asked, her eyebrows knitting together.

Gibbs gave her the ghost of a smile.

"Nah," he said, looking back to his work.

Ziva stared at him, confused. She was growing increasingly confused with Gibbs' behavior.

"Penny for your thoughts, Ziva," Gibbs said, and she swore he sounded amused.

"But I am not thinking about pennies. I am thinking about you."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I do not mean like that. I do not think about you Gibbs. Ever. I merely meant—"

He chuckled. Ziva mustered up a glare glumly, trying to dig herself out of this hole. Why was she so confused? What had she said wrong?

Gibbs smirked at her.

Something clicked.

"Aha!" she cried, pointing at him. "It is _penny_ for your thoughts, then! Not quarter!"

"Noooo," Gibbs drawled. "I charge a quarter for mine."

Ziva glared at him.

Just when she thought Gibbs had no sense of humor…

* * *

_The Navy Goat thing? Stolen from an episode of JAG:]_


	31. At Each Other's Throats

_The Idiom: At Each Other's Throats_

* * *

Ziva David sighed and tapped her fingers loudly on the desk in front of her. She rested her chin on her palm and looked around tediously, waiting.

She did not like waiting.

Timothy McGee tapped a few useless keys on his computer. Anthony DiNozzo sighed loudly and took a slurping drink of whatever soft drink he'd brought back from the local fast food place.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs' desk remained empty.

"This is getting ridiculous," Ziva muttered.

McGee checked his watch. Tony removed his straw from his cup and blew through it like a child.

"I do not understand why we are being punished," Ziva grumbled.

"Because Gibbs is being punished," Tony supplied automatically, waving his straw at her knowingly. "And he wants us to suffer."

"We did not do anything. We only followed his orders," Ziva informed him.

"I know that," Tony said, rolling his eyes, "but it turns out the director doesn't _like_ it when we kidnap certain big-mouthed, obnoxious FBI agents who tried to put me away for murder and tie them half-naked to trees in Rock Creek Park."

"It was Gibbs' idea!" Ziva cried.

McGee snorted sullenly.

"As if Director Shepard is going to believe that."

Ziva narrowed her eyes.

"You have not heard half the stories," she growled.

Tony perked up and stood rapidly.

"Stories, my little Ninja Chick? Tales of Gibbs and past infractions? You have some?"

"Not for your ears," Ziva dismissed primly, glaring up the stairs.

She had been looking forward to watching her backlog of TiVo shows this weekend, and instead they were being forced to remain at NCIS until Jenny was finished screaming at Gibbs. She resented this unforeseen development.

Ziva stood up suddenly and marched around her desk and out of the bullpen.

"Whoa there, karate kid," Tony placated, jogging to catch up with her. He took the catwalk steps two at a time to keep up. "Where ya going?"

"I am going to inform Jenny I am leaving," Ziva said calmly, "She will understand."

"What've you got to do that's so important?" Tony sneered.

She turned at the entrance to Cynthia's office and glared at her partner.

"I have not seen three new episodes of _American Idol_," she said in a deadly voice.

Tony paled a little. He didn't want to step in front of a normal person and their _American Idol_, much less Miss Ziva David. He shuffled after her into Cynthia's office. The secretary had long departed.

"Whoa, Ziva, let's re-think this," Tony said, when he realized she was serious about busting into Jenny's office unannounced.

Who did she think she was, _Gibbs_?

"I do not feel I need to re-think this."

"Come on," Tony coaxed, gesturing distastefully at the door, "You don't want to walk in on that. Those two are probably at each other's throats,"

Ziva paused with her hand on the doorknob.

"Why are you constantly under the impression Gibbs and Jenny are engaging in a steamy, illicit sex somewhere in the building?" she demanded.

Tony looked confused.

"_What_? I just said—oh," he broke off, his lips curling into a smile. "No, Ziva, not like—_kissing_, 'at each other's throats' means they're fighting. Like dogs, biting throats?" he looked for any sign of comprehension from the assassin.

She looked at him sharply.

"I see," she said, furrowing her brow. It did not look like she saw at all.

Tony let out a strangled gasp as she flung open Jenny's office door purposefully, without even considering a nice, polite _knock_.

"Ziva!" he hissed.

Ziva froze.

"Tony?" she asked calmly.

"Uh-huh?" he whispered, backing away in fear. He was prepared for two angry bosses to come out roaring.

"I believe my interpretation of your idiom was more applicable," Ziva explained coolly.

She smirked.

Eyes wide, Tony bounded forward; peeking over her shoulder with trepidation at what he would find. He broke into a gleeful smirk.

Jenny and Gibbs were definitely '_at each other's throats'_—on the conference table.


	32. Don't Put All Your Eggs In One Basket

_The Idiom: Don't Put All Your Eggs in One Basket_

_

* * *

_

Ziva stared in disbelief at the plasma screen in the bullpen, overwhelmed with the amount of evidence, hacking, interviewing, processing, and general _stuff_ this case involved. Yes, there were three bodies, four different suspects, and about seven witnesses—but surely that wouldn't constitute this much _crap_.

She groaned as she listened to Gibbs start barking out orders.

She was not going to be able to go home for weeks, at this rate.

"McGee, get me the phone records of the victims and the suspects, see if they've had any contact with each other. Help Abby do what she needs to do on Corporal Retch's computer find out what the encryption in that e-mail means—and go through the texts on those two phones, I want to know who received what when—"

"Whoa, there, boss, don't put all your eggs in one basket. You sure the Probius Maximus can handle all that?" Tony interrupted slyly, amused with his own joke.

Ziva broke out of her complaining reverie and gave the three of them a befuddled look.

"What eggs?" she asked, unaware there were eggs involved in the case.

"Er, sorry boss, I—" Tony stammered, ignoring Ziva, quailing under Gibbs' look.

"Who's basket?" Ziva demanded, turning towards them a little more.

"What I meant to say was, you have excellent judgment in what McGee can handle, and I think he'll do a fine job—"

_WHACK_.

"I deserved that, Boss."

"Ya think, DiNozzo?"

"I am confused," Ziva announced loudly.

Her three colleagues turned to her, Gibbs looking particularly annoyed.

"About _what_, Agent David?" Gibbs asked sharply.

"About the basket of eggs," she responded quizzically.

"_What_ basket of eggs?!" Gibbs inquired, sounding just as confused.

"The basket you are putting all of your—or Tony is placing too many eggs in—" Ziva broke off, her brow furrowing. She stomped her foot and glared at him.

"McGee!" Gibbs barked, pointing at Ziva. "Explain."

He stormed out of the bullpen in the direction of autopsy.

'AND GET TO WORK!" he yelled.

Ziva turned to McGee, waiting.

"Er, Ziva, no one really has a basket of eggs, it's proverbial. It means don't put everything you value on one person, or it might get messed up and—"

Ziva sighed. She hated this language.


	33. Flash in the Pan

_The Idiom: Flash in the Pan_

* * *

"I'M BORED!"

Special Agent Tony DiNozzo looked around expectantly after making his very loud, very insistent declaration, eagerly awaiting a response from one (any one!) of his coworkers.

He frowned when he was met with silence.

How the hell had they found something to do when no one in the agency had caught a case in a week and a half?!

They actually, _literally_, had no work…and yet, the probie-man and the Mossad lady were hard at work. Gibbs was, as usual, nowhere near.

"That begged a response, you know," he grumbled loudly, glaring at Ziva's carefully bent head.

"I did not think so," she answered innocently.

"Isn't it about time you started using contractions?" he snapped loudly, glaring harder. He was trying to perfect his Gibbs-caliber glare.

Ziva looked up.

"Using contraptions to do what?" she asked sincerely.

He grumbled and shook his head, turning his attention to the Probie.

"Whatcha doing, McSuck-Up?" he asked solemnly.

McGee failed to answer for a full five minutes, so Tony naturally picked up the nearest object and chucked it at him.

"ARGH!" McGee yelped, when Tony's tape hit him in the side of the face.

Tony laughed hysterically—that is, until his laughter was interrupted by his own high-pitched squeak as Ziva's stapler hit him in the chest.

"ZIVA!" he protested.

"Do not do that again," she growled, coming around her desk. "Are you alright, McGee?" she asked sweetly.

"Fine," he muttered, giving Tony a good glare.

Tony bounced up and moseyed over to McGee's desk, curving his neck around in interest to see what the Probie was up to.

"…_the team was bored, much too bored, particularly Agent Tommy, which meant he would regress in maturity level to that of a small child and—_HEY," Tony interjected suddenly, realizing what was being said.

"You can't write about us working while we are actually working!" he protested, scowling.

"You are not working, Tony," Ziva pointed out nastily, gesturing to the pile of solitaire cards on his desk.

He glanced at them and brushed them off, turning his back on them and pointing at McGee.

"Bad McProbie!" he said sternly. McGee rolled his eyes, frowned at his screen, and turned to Ziva.

"Who do you think should play Tony in the movie version of my book?" he asked conversationally, and Tony's ears perked up.

He inched forward, his eyes brightening.

"Hmmmmm," Ziva mused slowly, glancing at him. "The man who plays Dr. Apartment?" she suggested.

"It's…Dr. House, Ziva," McGee corrected with a snort. She shrugged. "Nah," he added, glancing judgmentally at Tony, "He's too—"

"Bad ass? Good looking? Intelligent?" Ziva supplied in quick succession.

Tony's mouth fell open in outrage.

"I'm offended!" he informed them loudly.

"I was thinking more like David James Elliot," McGee said.

"I do not think so," Ziva refuted, shaking her head sadly, "He seems like too much of a gentleman."

McGee nodded.

"Hmmmmm," he said.

"Hmmmmm," Ziva added, as they both turned to Tony critically.

He glared at them both and jumped back, pointing a finger.

"I won't be a part of this!"

"Let us ask him," Ziva suggested wickedly.

"Who would you like to be played by, Tony?" McGee asked in mock solemnity.

"PIERCE BROSNAN!" Tony demanded instantly.

Ziva made a quizzical face.

"Bond," McGee offered helpfully.

"Oh," she said, nodding. She shook her head. She sized him up. "I shall ask Gibbs," she decided, as the Boss man himself entered the bullpen on cue.

"Gibbs—"

"Patrick Swayze," Gibbs growled, sitting down and throwing his coffee cup into the trash without even looking at them.

Ziva and McGee snorted. Tony looked outraged.

"BOSS! Aw, come on! I deserve someone more famous than that—his career was a flash in the pan, I'm at least worth—"

"Wait a moment," Ziva interrupted, holding up a finger and looking confused, "He flashed whom?"

McGee snorted, locking his eyes onto his computer purposefully.

Tony blinked at Ziva.

"Who flashed whom?"

"Patrick Swayze. He flashed a pan? Or someone holding a pan?" she asked, brows furrowing.

Tony burst into cackles of laughter.

"Ah, my little English-challenged Mossad chick," he said, shaking his head. He reached out to tousle her hair and she smacked his hand away, glaring. He caught sight of the look and turned his cackling into a cough, sobering up.

"Oh, uh," he stammered, attempting to look serious, "a 'flash in the pan' means something that looks and seems like its going to be really good, but is over really fast and kind of feels unfinished…"

Ziva's eyes brightened wickedly.

"I see. It is like your sexual performance," she responded.

The look on Tony's face, and the rare laugh she heard from Gibbs behind her, was worth screwing up yet another idiom.

* * *

_I...really want to hear this in the show. Badly. _


	34. Let the Cat Out of the Bag

_The Idiom: Let the Cat Out of the Bag_

* * *

"You want to know what I figured out last night?"

Tony DiNozzo put his face inches away from Ziva David's, his eyes sparkly with gossip as he waited for her response.

"I do not," she answered calmly.

He frowned a little. He reached out and poked her shoulder—and almost lost his finger as a result. When he was finished yelping and nursing the finger, he leaned back down to eye level and waited expectantly for curiosity to get the best of her.

She slammed the filing cabinet she was standing at shut and turned to him, her arms crossed.

"What did you find out last night, Tony?" she patronized sarcastically, as if talking to a dense child.

"_Weeelll_," he drawled, looking very pleased with himself. "I came back to get my coat, because I realized I left it, and Gibbs' light was still on—his desk light, you know—and I was curious, so I spied a little. I," he paused with a flourish and smirked, "discovered what he does when he stays late!"

Ziva's eyes widened a little. She was not aware Jenny and Gibbs had been so careless.

She didn't think about it much, she just blurted out:

"You know about Gibbs and the Director?"

Tony's expression went from smug to absolutely gleeful when her words registered.

"Come again, little Mossad chick? Gibbs and Jenny? Know about them doing _what_? Each _other_? And I thought him figuring his alimony checks was funny! How long have they been conducting secret _trysts_ in the office after hours—"

Tony stopped talking abruptly. Ziva held up her hands desperately.

"Do not repeat what I said! Do _not_ tell Jenny, she will—"

"Uh," Tony interrupted quietly, pointing over her shoulder, "I think you're in trouble."

Ziva whirled around. She found herself staring directly at a very pissed Jenny Shepard.

"Big trouble," she heard Tony whisper in fright.

"Oh, hello, Jenny," she greeted brightly. Her false smiled faded under Jenny's piercing cold glare. "Ha-ha," she laughed in defeat. "I suppose I trapped the cat in the bag."

"No," Jenny said coldly, and scarily calmly, "Ziva, you let the cat _out_ of the bag. If you had trapped it in there IT WOULD STILL BE A SECRET!" Jenny shouted.

Tony scrambled backwards with a squeak.

"What would still be a secret?" Gibbs asked, entering the bullpen with his ever-present cup of Jamaican blend.

He began to take a drink, noticed Jenny, and slowly lowered his cup, inching back a little.

"Cat fight, boss!" Tony hissed in warning, cowering by McGee's desk.

Jenny was glaring silently at Ziva. Ziva just stared back apologetically.

Gibbs looked between them questioningly.

"Ziva let the cat out of the bag," Tony informed him quietly, as if he was waiting for an explosion.

"What cat?" Gibbs asked slowly, looking suspiciously at the dark haired Israeli.

"The one about you nailing the director."

"_Bad_ choice of words, DiNozzo!" the Director snarled, turning her gaze on him.

He cowered.

Narrowing his eyes, Gibbs immediately whacked Ziva firmly in the back of the head.

"I THOUGHT HE KNEW!" Ziva yelped, grabbing her head.

"She messed up an idiom again, too, Boss," Tony tattled, a smile spreading over his face.

Gibbs smacked her again.

Ziva turned on him viciously and shouted:

"Americans have too many cat idioms for me to keep straight!"

* * *

_It is only after taking on this story that I discovered how many 'cat' idioms we Americans have._


	35. The Straw That Broke The Camel's Back

_The Idiom: Straw that Broke the Camel's Back_

_

* * *

_

Ziva David watched her redheaded friend furiously attempt to pace a hole into her study floor, waving her arms as she described the hell of a week she'd just had.

Ziva listened with slight amusement. Jenny Shepard was a good sport, she was tough, and she did her job well—but there were a few things she just did not deal well with.

And apparently, all of them had occurred this week.

"And Melvin ran over my shoe! He RAN OVER it, Ziva—how the _hell_ does that happen? My _favorite_ Coach stiletto _gone_..." she began cursing again.

Ziva smiled a little more.

"And _then_," Jenny continued, fuming, stopping to pick up her glass of bourbon and begin pacing determinedly again, "then that slimy Senator Grant has the _nerve_ to grab my ass at the Children's Benefit—_really_? Who sexually harasses someone at a _Children's Benefit_?!"

Ziva mentally ticked off the top ten pet peeves of Jenny Shepard in her head: heels getting ruined, her ass being touched without her permission, Gibbs, the FBI winning the pissing contest (again), Gibbs, having no chocolate in her house…and those were only the seven Ziva had heard about so far.

"Not to mention," Jenny fumed, her glare getting more and more vicious and her pacing more angry, "Jethro actually _knocked_ my door off of its hinges that arrogant _bastard_ _and_ there's a coffee stain on my favorite Armani skirt because—guess who!—spilled his coffee on it when I tried to throw him out of my office _and_ I lost my favorite pair of Victoria's Secret panties _AND_!"

Jenny held up her middle finger and Ziva looked at her, surprised and a little offended at first, before Jenny finished her tirade.

"I broke a fucking _nail_," she snarled.

Ziva's eyebrows went up a little.

And she burst out laughing.

After all of that, Jenny was concerned about a simple _nail_ chipping?

Ziva slipped a hand over her mouth to muffle the giggles, because she was receiving a rather deadly glare from her friend.

Jenny seemed to relax a little, her brow furrowed some, and she leaned back against her desk, taking a long drink of her bourbon.

"What the hell is so funny, Ziva?" she demanded, speaking more quietly than she had.

"I am sorry, Jenny," Ziva gasped, attempting to compose herself, "it is just that…after all of the unfortunate things that happened—you did say your town car was dented, I believe, at some point—you are upset because you broke a nail?"

Ziva laughed again.

Jenny glared at her, a little meeker than she had been.

"It's the principle of the matter!" she snapped, looking at her poor nail moodily. "You don't understand. It was just the straw that broke the camel's back."

Ziva looked at her quizzically.

"What camel?" she asked rapidly, straightening up. "You had a run in with a camel, too?! In Washington?"

Jenny stared at her blankly.

"Um," she stated.

Ziva looked at her impatiently.

"What?" Jenny asked helplessly, "What the hell are you talking about?"

Ziva looked at her suspiciously.

"You mentioned a camel, Jenny," she informed her friend.

"Oh, _Ziva_," Jenny rolled her eyes, "It just means I had a bad week."

"I do not think a straw could break a camel's back," Ziva stated.

"Ziva," Jenny said slowly and carefully, "Camels can carry a lot of weight. You know this; you and I rode one through the damn desert in Sudan. There are times when sometimes, one little thing is just too much. Thus, when I said what I said, I simply meant breaking a nail was the rotten cherry on top of my melted ice cream week."

Ziva looked at her like she'd grown a second head.

"Why are we speaking of ice cream?!" she asked exasperatedly.

"It's a METAPHOR!" Jenny shouted.

"I thought we were talking about IDIOMS!" Ziva retorted loudly.

They glared at each other.

Ziva swallowed her irritation.

"How did you break your nail, Jenny?" she asked, attempting to return the conversation to her sympathizing with the redhead's horrible no good very bad week.

Jenny suddenly found her drink very interesting.

"Er, smacking Jethro in the mouth," she muttered.

Ziva's eyes lit up.

She caught Jenny's eye, and they smirked.

"Then I suppose Gibbs' teeth broke the camel's back?" she suggested lightly.

* * *

_I can't tell you how many times I've injured myself whilst trying to hurt someone else...*shame*_


	36. Hell in a Hand Basket

_The Idiom: Hell in a Hand Basket_

_

* * *

_

Two slightly dirty, slightly beat up hearse doors slammed in unison in the creepy dark of the NCIS parking garage.

The sound of platforms and nice leather boots on concrete floor could be heard echoing around the deserted garage.

The eerie silence was broken by an excited giggle.

"Shh!" Mossad Officer Ziva David hissed, elbowing her partner in crime in the ribs gently.

"I can't help it! I feel like a secret agent!" Forensic Scientist Extraordinaire Abigail Scuito hissed back.

She suddenly stopped and titled her head, a smile breaking over her face.

"That's ironic," she commented, considering the company she was in and the location she was currently at.

"Abby!" hissed Ziva, beckoning her forward.

"Oh, right!" The Goth snickered, creeping after her Israeli friend eagerly.

Ziva rustled slightly as she moved; cursing the paper bags she was holding under her breath as she indicated Abby should fish an identification card out for the scanner at the door. Abby slung a bag over her shoulder and held her car keys between her teeth, producing her NCIS ID and gaining them access to the basement of the building.

She began walking towards her lab out of habit.

"Abs! _Pssst_!" hissed Ziva, beckoning jerkily towards the elevator. Abby changed direction and scuttled towards her, smiling brightly.

"Let's take the stairs," she suggested, all conspiracy.

Ziva looked at her in question.

"Just in case there are some stray agents. I don't want anyone to tip her off!" Abby reasoned.

Ziva nodded once in agreement and moved toward the stairs. A streamer attempted to fall out of her paper bag and she did not allow it to, shoving it back in with a smirk.

Jenny would learn quickly not to order them to refrain from celebrating her birthday.

Equipped with streamers, hats, candy, favors, confetti, and balloons, she and Abby planned to celebrate Jenny's birthday whether she wanted it celebrated or not.

Obnoxiously, and all over her office.

Hence the stealthy sneaking around work at almost one a.m.

Abby stumbled in her platforms on the stairs and burst into giggles, grabbing onto Ziva to steady herself. Ziva muffled her own laugher and shushed Abby violently, grabbing onto the banister in turn so they both wouldn't tumble down the stone steps to a miserable death.

"Jenny will forgive us, right?" Abby asked with a smile, pausing in the doorway to the main floor.

Ziva nodded, making a forget-about-it face.

"Just because she does not want to turn forty does not mean we cannot have fun!" she said smartly, smirking at Abby.

Abby giggled and pushed the door open. She was followed into the very dark hallway by Ziva, and they crept low along the wall to the end of it, peeking out into the array of desks and bullpens.

"See anyone?" Abby asked softly, relying on Ziva's assassin eyes to scout for her.

Ziva frowned a little. A few desk lamps had been left on, but there did not seem to be anyone in sight, which corroborated the empty parking garage and therefore satisfied her instincts.

She crouched and turned to Abby.

"Jenny's present is in my desk. We must make a hole stop to get it."

"Pit stop," corrected Abby.

"Noted," returned Ziva, and dropped to the floor to crawl past the nearest light so as not to create a shadow.

She stood back up fluidly, followed closely by a hobbling Abby, as she rounded the corner to approach the bullpen that belonged to Team Gibbs. She wasn't surprised to see from over the edge that Gibbs' desk lamp had been one left one; he liked to spite the electric bill because it made Jenny angry.

Ziva smirked at the thought and checked to make sure Abby was still with her. She spotted her desk and straightened to her full height, walking confidently into the bullpen…

…and stopped dead in her tracks.

From her days with Jenny in Egypt, Ziva knew the redhead had a seriously wild side under her cool, pristine façade.

But even Ziva wouldn't have thought she'd walk in on Jenny Shepard giving Leroy Jethro Gibbs a lap dance.

In the middle of the bullpen.

Abby smacked into her back, letting out a surprised squeak when she realized Ziva wasn't moving.

Abby gasped. Loudly.

Still completely shell-shocked, Ziva's paper bags tumbled from her hands and onto the floor with a rustling thump and a crackle.

The noise startled Jenny. She sat bolt right up on Gibbs' lap and her eyes snapped in their direction.

Abby's mouth was still hanging open.

Jenny's quiet, strangled gasp snapped the Goth out of it.

"Hot _damn_!" she shrieked, her eyes widening in glee. "_Nice_ lace, Director!" she squealed, a bit of triumph in her voice.

A slow smile broke out over Ziva's face. Gibbs, already awarding the pair of miscreant team members in front of him the worst glare they'd ever received, wrapped his arms around Jenny as if he were trying to cover her.

"What the hell are you two doing here?" Jenny barked, her eyes narrowing. Her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment—and maybe something else.

"Decorating for your birthday!" Abby responded brightly. "Though it seems _Gibbs_ is the one getting a present," she teased, wiggling her eyebrows.

"I said _don't_—I'm going to _kill_—_leave_," Jenny stammered, finally settling on an order that she delivered in a threatening voice.

"What if I want to watch?" Abby asked playfully.

"_Abs_," growled Gibbs.

Ziva was sure half of the glare was not because he was embarrassed but because he was losing pleasurable time with Jenny.

Abby giggled. Ziva smirked.

"You're fired," Jenny said, sinking against Gibbs and burying her face.

"Jenny, you can't fire us because we saw you in your unmentionables!" Abby protested with a winning smile, "You'd have to fire Gibbs, too, because I'm willing to bet he's seen you nak—"

"_ABBY_!" roared Gibbs.

Abby looked hurt by the force of his yelling.

"Do not be offended, Abby," Ziva piped up mockingly, her eyes on Gibbs' face, "He is simply disgruntled because his booty call—yes?—has gone to hell in a hatbox."

"Hell in a hand basket, Ziva," corrected Jenny, her voice muffled in Gibbs' shirt. "Now get your asses out of here before I _kick_ them to hell and back."

"We'll leave," Abby bartered solemnly, "Only if you promise to finish doing to Gibbs what you were doing when we walked in—because he'll blame me and take my caf-pow!s if you don—_Zeeee_-_vahhh_!" Abby broke off with a whine as Ziva grabbed her arm and started ushering her away, leaving the party favors in the floor.

Abby looked put out for a moment, and then began talking loudly.

"Speaking of hell, Ziva, how hot do you think it is? Hotter than what she was doing to poor Gibbs? Because, _damn_…"

Ziva smirked, enjoying the moment.

She had no doubt tomorrow Jenny would personally deliver them to Satan himself in a hand basket.

Or, perhaps, a hatbox, considering they would be in rather small pieces when she was done.

* * *

_Er...I believe the "Jibbs Undertone" has become slightly stronger lately. Forgive me; Paris Nights drips with it and I can't seem to shake it off completely. _


	37. You Can't Have Your Cake and Eat It Too

_The Idiom: You Can't Have Your Cake and Eat It Too—ncisfanatic_

* * *

Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo's eyes were aglow with delight as he looked at the array of food spread out on the table that usually held evidence. in Abby's lab.

No evidence today, though.

Instead, miles and mountains of yummy desserts and treats filled the table, making his mouth water and his teeth ache to taste it all.

But, alas, he wasn't allowed.

The peppy forensic scientist herself stood in front of them, a clipboard in her hand and a determined look on her face. He, McGee, and Ziva were participating in an experiment to decide which of her desserts tasted the best, and thus which she would prepare for Gibbs' upcoming birthday.

The rules were: They each had to pick three they thought looked the nicest, and the others were disqualified after. Then, they each got to take one bite of the one they thought looked best.

One. Bite.

"How exactly is this experiment accurate if we only are tasting…one third of the desserts?" he whined, trying to plead his case for tasting more for the thousandth time.

"I don't want to waste all of them Tony! The ones we don't choose will be put to good use, don't worry, they won't be forgotten!" Abby answered brightly, looking fondly at her little treats.

"I'm not worried about them being _forgotten_…" Tony muttered, and received an elbow to his side from the Israeli standing next to him.

"Would you please desist in your incessant arguing?" she hissed.

"Abby, McGee, Ziva is using big words again," Tony said in annoyance.

"Shhhh," Abby soothed.

"Hurry up, Tony," grumbled McGee, glaring at the senior field agent.

He and Ziva were not allowed to try their chosen treats until Tony chose and tasted his, and he was wasting time begging to be allowed more than one taste. McGee was getting impatient to try Abby's triple raspberry double fudge cheesecake.

Tony shifted his feet, examining his delectable choices. Light, fluffy vanilla-chocolate swirl mousse, strawberry-banana flavored cupcakes with blue raspberry icing, or a large, seductive piece of red velvet cake with a decorative rose on top.

Who knew Abby was such a fantastic baker?!

"Hmmm," he murmured, looking very hard between the mousse and the cake. "I have narrowed it down to two," he announced.

Abby and McGee groaned. McGee stomped his foot impatiently.

"Can't I please have both, Abs?" he pleaded finally, even resorting to sticking out his bottom lip. "Come on, you want me to choose between cake and mousse! Who can choose between cake and mousse? Please?!" he begged.

"TONY!" yelled McGee, while Abby shook her head with a bland smile.

Ziva pinched Tony hard in the arm and gave him a glare.

"Tony, you cannot have your dessert and chew your cake too!" she informed him sternly.

Tony blinked at her. McGee leaned forward to peek around him, and Abby stopped tapping her pen expectantly, tilting her head curiously.

"She butchered that one," McGee decided matter-of-factly.

"Yeah she did," Tony said, smirking.

"I butchered what?" Ziva asked, sounding a little put off. "I know it is something to do with cake!"

"It's 'you can't have your cake and eat it too'," McGee offered kindly, smirking a little himself.

Ziva grumbled, and narrowed her eyes, muttering darkly under her breath.

Tony snorted. Abby was still looking expectant of them all, and her eyes were twinkling.

"Will you just try the cake?" Ziva hissed threateningly.

Abby threw up her hands with an excited look.

"Am I the only one who found her idiom-butchering extremely appropriate for the occasion?!"

* * *

_The goal of this was to make you want lots of yummy desserts:]_


	38. Knock Your Socks Off

_The Idiom: Knock Your Socks Off—NCIS-Ziva-Abby_

* * *

Mossad Officer Ziva David had a glum look on her face as she stepped off the elevator and entered the bullpen on the rainy Monday morning. This rare glumness did not escape very unoccupied and thus very bored Agent DiNozzo's notice, and he zoned in on her immediately.

McGee was out sick, they had no case, Abby was busy, and Gibbs—well, he wouldn't dare talk to Gibbs—so Tony DiNozzo had nothing to do.

Until Ziva appeared at work!

"Morning, Zee-_vah_!" he greeted jovially, chucking a paper airplane at her. "Did you get lots of snores over the weekend after our difficult case?" he laughed at his own joke.

Ziva scowled at him and he frowned, jumping up nosily.

"What has the little ninja's hair in knots, I wonder?" he asked, creeping up to her desk. Then, out of the blue, he seemed to remember what her plans for the weekend had been.

"Ah!" he cried, settling himself on the edge of her desk. "How did your date with," he lowered his voice considerably and puffed out his chest, "the construction man," he reverted to his usual talking voice, "go?"

Ziva gave him a glum look.

"Not well," she said shortly.

"Oh?" Tony asked, cocking his head, curiosity piqued.

Ziva shrugged.

He sighed impatiently and squirmed.

"Aww, Ziva, please. I'm bored. _Please_. _Details_," he begged.

"He turned out not to be my type," Ziva offered with another, smaller shrug.

She glanced past him to Gibbs, who was studiously ignoring them both, staring at a case file, with his glasses perched on his nose.

"Did he make you pay for dinner?" Tony asked sympathetically.

Ziva shook her head.

"I would not mind paying for dinner," she added, as if it were nothing.

Tony perked up.

"Really? Ziva, want to go to dinner with me?" he asked with a smirk.

She glared.

"Be gone," she ordered, waving her hand.

"No! I'm sorry, I apologize. Finish the story."

"There is not a story."

"Come on, there's gotta be some reason he wasn't your type! Bad hair, bad teeth? He didn't eat kosher? He had an Adolf Hitler mustache?"

Ziva glared evilly at Tony.

"Umm, okay, sorry I mentioned Hitler," Tony muttered.

"I do not wish to tell you about my private life," Ziva said primly, turning to her computer.

She could tell, after he remained stalwartly at her desk for about five silent minutes, he was not going anywhere until he got some details.

"Tell me _one_ bad thing," he whined.

"Fine," Ziva agreed shortly, "He drove too slowly."

Tony stared at her, and rolled his eyes.

"That's not a deal breaker, _Misssssss_ David," he drawled, shaking his head, "What else?"

She did not reply.

"So, he just all around didn't do it for ya?" Tony prodded relentlessly. "He just didn't knock your socks off?"

Ziva looked up at him and scoffed.

"Please. He did not even get his hand up my thigh."

Tony's eyes bugged out of her head and he burst into a cackle of laughter as he realized she'd misinterpreted his words.

"Too much information, David," Gibbs growled, without even looking up, as his senior agent attempted to explain the colloquialism between peals of laughter.

* * *

_Speaking of socks getting knocked off: Gibbs has that effect on people. _


	39. Close Only Counts in Horseshoes

_The Idiom: Close Only Counts in Horseshoes and Hand Grenades—purplebookwormgirl_

* * *

Tony DiNozzo checked his watch.

Again.

McGee tapped his fingers repeatedly on the table they were waiting at.

Abby kept popping bubble gum, rhythmically, staring at Tony's watch when he wasn't looking at it.

The Director was leaning against a wall, examining her nails, looking as aloof as possible.

Gibbs, in turn, was watching her and the other people in the room like a hawk, as if someone at the DMV was smuggling an AK-47 under their summer clothing with which they were going to annihilate Jenny.

The team was silent, waiting for their final member to reappear from her test. The only sound was the occasional mechanical click of machines and the low buzz of people talking.

Abby sighed impatiently, and popped a bubble.

"Stop doing that," McGee ordered.

"Shut-up, McGee," she responded meanly, glaring.

"It's annoying, Abby," Tony added. He received a punch in the arm.

"It's how I deal with stress. Gibbs is okay with it. Gibbs, is it okay if I pop my—"

"It's annoying," he interrupted gruffly.

Abby clamped her mouth shut, looking perturbed.

"I don't care if you pop your gum, Abby," Jenny announced loudly.

The other three glared at her. She was being difficult simply because she and Ziva had wanted to come alone, and they had been thwarted.

Abby smiled and happily started popping her gum again.

Tony slumped in his chair and squirmed childishly.

"Where is Ziva?" he whined, throwing a glance at the Boss.

"It didn't take me this long to drive around the block," McGee added with a grumble.

Tony nodded in agreement. Jenny and Gibbs were busy silently sending death threats to each other with their eyes. Well, that wasn't true. Tony guessed Jenny was sending death threats and the boss was picturing her naked.

Hey, that was something he could do...

Suddenly a hand collided with his head.

"HOW DID YOU KNOW WHAT I WAS THINKING?!" he yelped, grabbing his head as he glared, wounded, at Gibbs.

Gibbs just glowered.

McGee tapped his foot again. Tony checked his watch.

It shouldn't be taking Ziva this long to complete the practical bit of her driver's test!

Tony was just opening his mouth to complain again when the DMV door burst open and Ziva's driving instructor came in, looking harassed and rather frightened. Ziva followed a moment later, looking defiant and annoyed.

Jenny looked at her friend, snorted, and looked back at her nails. Gibbs glared at Ziva. Abby popped a bubble. McGee looked nervous.

"Did you fail again?" Tony asked brightly, scrambling up.

This was only the fifth time she'd tried to get a license.

Ziva glared at him.

"I was so close!" she fumed, almost resorting to foot-stomping, "That woman simply cannot handle it if a person goes slightly over the speed limit—"

"Well, my little ninja, 'close' only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades."

Ziva growled at him.

"That is the point! I did not even have to navigate mines or grenades! It was a very peaceful ride!" she yelled, drawing attention to herself.

McGee snorted and Abby giggled.

"What DiNozzo meant," Gibbs clarified in a growl, "was stop failing."

Jenny kicked Gibbs in the shin. He looked at her in outrage. She glared, rolling her eyes, and clarified (better than Gibbs) for her Israeli friend.

"Think about it, Ziva. It means close doesn't mean anything in this situation," she offered.

Ziva narrowed her eyes. This time, she did stomp her foot, fed up with the stupid Americans and their stupid weak-stomach DMV and their stupid, stupid idioms.

"I would like to throw a hand grenade at you all!"

* * *

_She had to pass the American driver's test *sometime*_


	40. The Walls Have Ears

_The Idiom: The Walls Have Ears_

* * *

Ziva David stood with her hands behind her back and her feet pointed slightly apart, glaring determinedly at the redhead who stood across from her.

Jennifer Shepard was a glare to be reckoned with, and Ziva was receiving one of her worst as the Director stood behind her desk, silhouetted in the window, her hands on her slim waist as she tried to break her friend.

"You were the only one who knew, Ziva," the redhead growled pointedly.

Ziva shook her head slowly.

"No, I was not."

"Tell me who you told."

"I did not tell anyone. You were careless," Ziva returned with a scoff. How dare Jenny think she would betray a confidence? Ziva was offended.

Jenny narrowed her eyes.

"If you did not tell," she patronized, "how the hell does the whole agency _know_?"

"As previously stated, Jenny," Ziva said matter-of-factly, "You were careless. You must have let something slip. Or you were seen. I would _never_ tell the agency!" Ziva defended.

"I am not careless," Jenny said snippily, put out by the mere suggestion.

She glared, squinty-eyed, at her friend, trying to figure this out.

"I swear, Ziva, if you don't tell me how this got out—you know, I can tell—"

Ziva threw up her hands.

"YOU are carless! McGee saw you and him kissing in the parking garage, Palmer saw you run your hand over his butt outside the break room…well, I'm not going to _talk_ about what ABBY saw—_Cynthia_ overheard you kick him out of your _bed_! There are ears on the walls, Jenny! It is not my fault!"

Jenny blinked slowly, her lips parted slightly at the rush of information.

"I think you mean…" she trailed off, processing the facts Ziva had thrown at her, and muttered in continuance, "You mean 'the walls have ears'…"

Ziva scowled.

"That is what I mean. See? I told no one anything! You just do not know who is watching or listening at any time—"

Jenny's sharp eyes snapped to Ziva's. She looked slightly pale.

"Hang on. Are you trying to tell me people have _heard us_?!"

* * *

_ I feel clever (and shameless, heh heh) for referencing 'Cynthia Has Ears'--and 'Red', as well; now that I think about it. _


	41. The Ball Is In Your Court

_The Idiom: The Ball Is In Your Court_

* * *

Antony DiNozzo, Ziva David, and Timothy McGee stood glumly by the big open window outside of the bullpen, the three of them looking forlornly out into the warm summer night—a night they were not out enjoying.

Gibbs was on the rampage. An arrogant suspect and his shrew of a wife had royally pissed off the boss man and they were all suffering for it.

"There isn't anything else we can do," muttered Tony.

"We've hit a dead end!" McGee added, whining a little. It was nearing ten o'clock on a Friday; they'd all had to cancel plans already for a case that had died days ago.

"Gibbs does not think so," Ziva grumbled shooting him an evil glance. He was glaring purposefully at all the case files.

He hadn't noticed that his team had returned from what they'd been ordered to do and were presently congregating by the window, talking about him.

"I want to go home," moaned Tony.

Ziva nodded curtly as well as McGee.

Tony took a peek at Gibbs and poked Tim.

"Ask him if we can go home."

Tim looked appropriately terrified.

"Are you insane?!"

"No. I'm tired and hungry and I hate Gibbs. Go ask!"

Timothy shook his head violently. He gave Gibbs a scared glance and then looked back to Tony and Ziva.

"Ziva…" he pleaded.

She shook her head.

Tony turned to her.

"Good idea, McLily-Livered," he said enthusiastically. "You go ask, Ziva!"

"I do not have a death wish," Ziva answered sternly, refusing.

"Neither does Gibbs," Tony pointed out, insinuating he wouldn't dare table with Ziva.

"That's debatable," McGee said.

"Ah! The Probie is getting saucy!" Tony said, smirking at Tim. He turned back to Ziva. "Ziva, Gibbs won't kill you. You're his little pet ninja," he encouraged her.

Ziva looked outraged.

"I am no one's pet!" she protested.

"Okay, fine, he's fully aware you could probably kick his ass. ASK HIM."

Ziva peeked over Tony's shoulder at Gibbs.

She looked back at McGee and Tony. They were both watching her expectantly. She stomped her foot and glared, displeased with being stuck with the bad job again.

"The ball is in your court, Zee-vah," Tony prompted.

"We are not playing basketball, Tony," she responded darkly.

Tony laughed. McGee smiled.

"What?" Ziva asked, unfolding her arms and placing them on her hips. She glared at them.

"Uh, he just meant it's your decision, Ziva," McGee offered, always helpful in her idiomatic faux-pas.

"Here's a decision for you," Gibbs said sternly, without even glancing up, "Get to work or I kick your ass."


	42. Hit the Hay

_The Idiom: Hit the Hay_

* * *

It was a dark and stormy night.

There was only very hushed silence in the government car as Gibbs drove them back from a case they'd been handling in Baltimore.

Currently, Anthony DiNozzo, Timothy McGee, and Ziva David were squished together in the backseat, while Gibbs' coffee cup enjoyed the large, roomy passenger seat and was glared at by the three it had usurped.

Ziva had been kicked out of the front seat for singing to the radio. Tony had been banished for detailing the entire plot of all three _Lord of the Rings_ movies. McGee had been booted for worrying incessantly about the worsening storm.

Now they were silently grumbling about their uncomfortable predicament of being smushed against each other in the backseat while Gibbs smirked happily into the windshield.

They were tired, wet, and drained from the 72 hour manhunt they'd just stayed up through to catch a thief. Each of them had survived only on fast food and caffeine, and they couldn't get warm or cozy enough to snatch some sleep in this car.

This only served to make them crankier.

"I can't wait to get home," moaned McGee, shifting as he tried to get marginally cozy.

Tony's hands snuck to his waist again and he slowly started to push the seat-belt release button.

"Seatbelt on, DiNozzo," Gibbs ordered.

Tony gave him a glumly outraged look and slouched back, pouting.

"Can you turn the heat on, Boss?" Tony asked with forced politeness.

Gibbs' response was to blast the air conditioning higher.

Ziva glared daggers at the back of his silver head.

"He is enjoying this far too much," she snarled.

Tony and McGee nodded moodily.

"I am so tired!" Ziva whined. She kicked the back of Gibbs' seat.

Gibbs stepped on the gas hard and she slammed back against her seat, effectively put in her place. Tony sniggered. McGee looked sympathetic.

"That was brave," he offered.

"Nuh-uh. It was stupid," Tony corrected.

"Good DiNozzo," said Gibbs.

Tony preened.

"What are you going to do when you get home?" McGee asked dreamily, leaning back.

"Eat," Tony said immediately.

"I am so sleepy," Ziva said, curling against the car door and closing her eyes. "I think I will smack the straw."

Tony leaned forward to look at her, lifting his eyebrows in confusion. McGee did the same, giving her a quizzical look.

"Is she okay?" he asked.

"Our little ninja is very confused this time," Tony narrated.

"HIT THE HAY!" Gibbs yelled.

Ziva jumped and hit her head on the top of the car. She glared at Gibbs' head. He was having _way_ too much fun.

Gibbs chuckled.

* * *

_Oh, that Jethro. _


	43. Don't Get Your Panties In A Bunch

_The Idiom:_ _Don't Get Your Panties in a Bunch—Lost in Romance_

* * *

Ziva David was earnestly searching her desk for her favorite blue ink pen.

She desperately wanted to find aforementioned ink pen because it happened to write better than any pen she had ever owned, and it never ceased to make her thank you, birthday, and Christmas cards nicer and neater than everyone else's.

And it was gone.

Frantically, she yanked open drawer after drawer, searching through them insistently over and over again. She had just had it the other day. Where could it have gotten do?

Ziva cursed to herself in Hebrew as she failed to find the pen in yet another drawer, and yanked the next one open.

"Ziva, chill out," mumbled Tony under his breath, annoyed with her antics and yet still scared enough of her not to rebuke her outright.

"I want my blue pen!" she growled.

"Maybe you left it at home. Or did you check your purse?" McGee asked helpfully, glancing up warily at the Mossad officer.

Ziva jumped up and slammed her hands on the desk.

"No. I distinctly remember leaving it here last night," she growled, searching the top of her desk again.

"Maybe another agent took it," McGee said with a shrug.

"Then they will die," Ziva promised threateningly. Her eyes suddenly snapped up to Tony. "I think you took it, my little hairy butt," she accused.

"Me?!" he squeaked, eyes going wide. "What would I want with your silly pen? It's just a pen!"

Ziva stalked around her desk like a predator and approached him. Tony inched backwards until he hit the filing cabinet and cowered. He gulped, putting up his hands defensively.

"Jesus, Ziva, it's just a pen. Don't get your panties in a bunch."

Ziva's eye twitched menacingly and she looked outraged.

"I was not aware you had a death wish, Tony," she snapped, glaring at him, "How dare you reference my panties! Are you saying now you have stolen those too?"

"You're stealing Ziva's panties, Tony?" McGee asked, brow furrowed as he zoned in on the conversation again.

"Wha—NO! I—"

"You learn _anything_ at that seminar, DiNozzo?" Gibbs growled, sweeping into the bullpen with a pointed glare.

"Boss! She misunderstood the—_again_—and I—"

"No more panty talk. Got a dead marine at Quantico."

"Whose panties are we talking about?"

The team froze as the Director's clipped voice cut into their conversation. They looked at her in silence before DiNozzo cleared his throat.

"He started it,"

Tony snapped his mouth closed, looking confused, turning around to see who had accused him.

Gibbs was pointing right at him.

Tony gasped in strangled outrage.

"Mmm-hmmm," Jenny murmured, looking very suspicious of them all. She approached Ziva.

"I borrowed your pen this morning," she announced blithely, handing it back.

Zia snatched it away and held it close, looking utterly relieved. She rounded on them all.

"Will someone please tell me who's panties are in a bunch?!"

* * *

_I was sad I didn't think of this one in the first place--thanks for the suggestion, Lost in Romance!_


	44. Every Cloud Has a Silver Lining

_The Idiom: Every Cloud Has a Silver Lining_

* * *

Abigail Scuito was sad. And because Abby was sad, Ziva was slightly put out. Mostly because she wasn't sure how to deal with mopey, crying Goths, but also because she considered Abby her friend and she didn't like when her friends were sad.

"It will be okay, Abby," Ziva soothed, patting the crying forensic scientist awkwardly again.

Abby was currently holding tightly to Ziva's neck, and the Israeli was surprised to note that the grip was tighter than half the people's who had ever tried to strangle her.

"No. No it will not. He didn't just break up with me Ziva, he was unnecessarily mean!" she whimpered, pulling back and sniffling pitifully.

"Then I will kill him," Ziva said simply, giving her friend a sympathetic look.

"He—he said my pigtails were childish and my t-shirts were immature and—and he said I was too happy to be the right kind of Goth!"

"Then I will _painfully_ kill him," Ziva growled.

Abby shook her head forlornly and more tears rolled down her cheeks.

"It's okay. Gibbs already said he'd beat him with a baseball bat," she mumbled.

Ziva frowned and patted Abby's shoulder.

"What would you like me to do, Abs?" she asked helpfully.

"Make me feel better," Abby requested softly.

Ziva was at a loss for a moment. She bit her lip and rummaged through her brain for nice, girly things to say. Something Jenny would come up with…she snapped her fingers and Abby gave her a funny look.

"Look at it this way, Abby," she soothed, "He was very mean to you, but when you came to us and told us what he said, we reminded you how you always make us smile and how we love you just the way you are. So he actually made your sunny disposition even more cherished."

Ziva paused, wondering if that had been a good thing to say and hardly able to believe she'd said it. Abby looked at her in surprise and then beamed. Her tears ceased and she nodded happily.

"There," Ziva said, smiling herself, "See? Every cloud has silver filling!"

Abby sniffled and laughed, smiling even wider.

"It's 'every cloud has a silver lining,'" she corrected gently, "but yours sounds kind of yummy."

Ziva smiled. She was glad she could help.

* * *

_Would people give me funny looks if I started using 'every cloud has silver filling?' It does sound yummy..._


	45. Rain Check

_The Idiom: Rain Check _

* * *

It was Friday night, and the entire team was itching to get out of the office. It didn't matter _where_ they went, as long as it was _away_ from NCIS headquarters, where Gibbs had held them hostage for the past 10 days.

Very Special Agent Tony DiNozzo was practically bouncing off the walls as he ran about, asking what they should all do since Gibbs had actually guaranteed them a weekend of complete and utter freedom.

No. Work. At. All.

"Probie! What are you doing? Drinks? Let's have drinks. Please? Everyone can come!"

"I'd like to Tony, but I promised Sarah I'd take her to this poetry reading with me up at Café Mozart…"

"Probie-San, you bore me," Tony scoffed, scowling and turning his back. He turned back hopefully. "Though if you want to bring Hot McSarah McGee to drinks—"

He backed off laughing when McGee looked appropriately outraged at Tony's choice of words.

"I'm kidding, _kidding_, Probi-wobie, I won't touch your sissy…" he muttered, inching away from the murderous look on his fellow agent's face.

Tony whirled around to Ziva and jumped a mile to find her standing right behind him.

"Drinks?" he asked enthusiastically.

"I am actually attending a German Weaponry Seminar tonight," she informed him pleasantly. "You are welcome to accompany me. We may have drinks afterwards," she offered kindly.

Tony hesitated. A weapons seminar with his little ninja chick? Not so good of an idea.

"Er," he gulped, shaking his head with a forced laugh, "Rain check?" he asked playfully.

Ziva gave him a quizzical look, placed her bag on the floor by his feet, and turned around, heading for the window. He looked after her, confused himself, when McGee snorted in amusement. Tony cottoned on a minute later when Ziva put her hands on the glass and began to look out the window.

Gibbs breezed by at that moment, suddenly stopping in his tracks when he saw Ziva's odd antics, and glared at first her back and then his two miscreant male agents.

"What is she doing?" he growled.

"She's, uh," Tony snorted, "She's checking for rain, Boss," he sniggered.

"Tony told her he's taking a _rain check_," McGee clarified, a big grin on his face.

"Tony! It is not raining, you may come with me!" Ziva said happily, turning around.

She frowned when she saw them all looking at her.

"What?" she demanded.

Gibbs rolled his eyes and jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the bamboozled Israeli.

"One of you, un-confuse her."

* * *

_ I know un-confuse her isn't a word. At least, not in our dictionary. It is in the Gibbstionary. _


	46. Cry Wolf

_The Idiom: Cry Wolf_

* * *

Leroy Jethro Gibbs wasn't quite sure how Jenny Shepard's 'business meeting' with _his_ forensic scientist and _his_ Mossad liaison officer had ended up with all three of them attempting to climb up a bookcase in the corner and hysterically summoning him to the office via _extremely_ loud shouting.

He just knew that, for some inexplicable reason, he was standing behind Jenny's desk with a fly swatter in his hand, waiting for whatever had scared the bejeesus out of the women to jump back out—as Ziva insisted it would.

"What the hell is it?" he asked, staring at the spot the bug supposedly was occupying.

"A horrifying specimen of life," Ziva answered darkly.

"Spider!" squeaked Abby.

"What kind?" Gibbs growled.

"THE KIND YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH AND DEAL WITH!" Jenny shouted, burrowing back into the corner.

Jethro pretended to lunge forward and was rewarded with three terrified shrieks. He laughed. Abby threw Jenny's shoe at him. This time he glared at them.

"I don't see it," he snapped, glaring over his shoulder.

"It's there," Jenny insisted. "Ziva said so."

Ziva nodded vigorously.

Gibbs rolled his eyes. He knew Jenny had a severe case of arachnophobia, and Abby didn't like them either, but he expected better of _Ziva David_.

Suddenly, something leapt out from under Jenny's desk. Jethro took a step back, raising the fly swatter to kill it…

…and paused, narrowing his eyes at the '_spider'_ in front of him.

"Get it!" ordered Jenny.

Jethro lowered his arm with a roll of his eyes and turned, indicating the bug with his fly swatter.

"That is a grass hopper," he informed them, patronizing.

Jenny and Abby stared at him, and then inched forward. Jenny relaxed and looked at it quizzically. Abby started smiling again.

"Oh!" she said, as if it were nothing.

The grass hopper leapt, and this time, the only one screaming hysterically was Ziva David herself.

The other three looked at her in amusement.

She had the good grace to look embarrassed.

"You said it was a spider!" Jenny accused.

"I had to! You won't kill grass hoppers!" Ziva retorted, giving the insect a terrified look.

"I like them," Jenny said fondly, giving it a warm look.

Jethro narrowed his eyes at it as it made an infuriatingly squeaky noise. He hated grass hoppers.

"You can't cry wolf like that!" Abby said, glaring at Ziva with her hands on her hips. "Grass hoppers don't deserve to die like arachnids do!"

"I did not cry wolf!" Ziva defended indignantly. " I cried 'spider' and you fools believed me!"

Jenny laughed and cocked her head at the grass hopper, ignoring Ziva.

"It's an expression, dear," she patronized, "meaning you're a dirty liar."

"Please get rid of it," Ziva growled, cursing her butchering of American colloquialism.

Without warning, the grass hopper leapt at Jethro. He smacked it hard with the fly swatter and ended its life.

"JETHRO!"

"GIBBS!"

Abby and Jenny cried, horrified, in unison.

Gibbs smirked. Ziva sighed in relief.

"I hate grass hoppers," Gibbs growled.

Jenny snatched the fly swatter and wacked him with it angrily.

"They hate you too, you bastard!"

* * *

_Gibbs may have an 'incident' with grasshoppers in Russian Twilight. Haven't decided. _


	47. Like Taking Candy From A Baby

_The Idiom: Like Taking Candy From A Baby—Pearl sun_

* * *

Tony DiNozzo was busy reading Ziva David's mail. She hadn't arrived at work yet, and he was bored, so naturally his inquisitive (and nosy) nature had led him to the pile of mail on her desk, all of which he was opening and perusing.

"Reading someone's mail is a federal crime," McGee announced obnoxiously.

"Well I am a federal agent, McLegal-Lawyer," Tony retorted loftily, "and I suspect Ziva of un-American activities."

"Like being Israeli?" McGee snorted, rolling his eyes disapprovingly.

"Or perhaps of incinerating a federal agent using vodka, gasoline, and a simple match," Ziva's dangerous voice broke through Tony's thoughts and he yelped, throwing her mail into the air and falling out of his chair.

She stormed over and started snatching her mail up, glaring sadistically."I could set you on fire with hairspray, as well," she began, "or poison your daily donut. Or slip enough laxatives to make you explode into your hamburger at lunch. Or impale you with a blunt chip of wood—"

"Ziva!" he squeaked in fright, stopping her.

She paused in gathering her mail and gave him a menacing look.

"I hope I have successfully scared you into never ever touching my post again," she said darkly.

"Psh," Tony scoffed, trying to retain some dignity, "You can't scare me. Nothing scares me."

"Oh, do not make me laugh, Tony," sneered Ziva, waltzing back over to her desk. "Scaring you is so easy it is like taking milk from a baby."

McGee grinned. Tony scrambled up.

"Wrong, Zee-vah," he gloated, pointing, "It's like taking _candy_ from a baby!"

Ziva glowered, mumbling and cursing under her breath.

"That makes no sense. Why would an infant be allowed candy?" she demanded haughtily.

"That is not the point," Tony brushed off.

"Correct," she snapped, "the point is you admitted it is easy to scare you."

Tony gaped a moment, kicking himself. Indeed he had. He smacked his palm down on his desk.

"Well you may scare me easily but you still fail at speaking English!" he scorned.

"BOO!" Ziva barked.

Tony screamed.


	48. Icing on the Cake

_The Idiom: Icing on the Cake_

* * *

"I do not think Tony likes it when I threaten to kill him," Ziva used aloud.

She cocked her head at the windshield in front of her, one foot propped on the dashboard as Gibbs drove them out to interview a witness. She made a perplexed face and blew hair out of her face.

"Though perhaps he finds it endearing. He is upset with me. I do not know why though. Gibbs, do you know why?" she asked, not waiting for a response. "No, you do not, because you do not listen to Tony. I am sure you are glad Tony is not here to talk your mouth off—"

Ziva paused, hardly noticing that Gibbs had glared at her twice now and was mumbling under his breath. She knew something about what she had said sounded off…

"Ah, ears. Talk your ears off, that is it. Yes it is nice not to have Tony along with his incessant prattle. But I still would like to know what I did to piss him off. He becomes difficult to work with when he is angry, like an insolent child. You know what I mean, right, Gibbs?"

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was about to kill her. The woman had never talked this much in her entire time with his team and he couldn't fathom why she'd decided to become the mouth of the south in his presence.

She was looking at him expectantly, and suddenly a look of realization came over her face.

"You would like me to shut my mouth, yes?" she asked knowingly.

"Oh, that'd just be the icing on the cake," Gibbs growled sarcastically, his eyes straight ahead.

Ziva fell silent, looking at him placidly. Slowly, her eyebrows started to knit together.

"Gibbs?" she asked after a long moment.

"What?!" he barked.

"What cake?"

Gibbs reached down and turned on the radio. He'd let her silently figure that idiom out herself.


	49. Tie the Knot

_The Idiom: Tie the Knot_

* * *

Ziva David came into work slowly, the atmosphere different somehow. She pulled one ear bud out of her ear and silenced her iPod, looking around quizzically. Her first clue that something was wrong was the fact that McGee was standing in the elevator with his nose in the corner. He had refused to greet her and had not spoken.

Ziva was perplexed to say the least.

"Tony," she greeted mildly, entering the bullpen.

Spinning around in his chair, Tony looked incredibly pleased. Excited, actually.

"Why, top of the morning, Ziva! Isn't it a lovely day?"

"Spectacular," Ziva answered sarcastically, jerking her head towards the elevator. "Why is McGee playing kissy face with the elevator wall?"

"Oh, _that_," Tony said airily, clearly pleased to be able to tell her. "Well, that would be because McGee was caught playing kissy-face with a certain happy-go-lucky, red-lipstick-wearing forensic scientist by no other than the fearsome Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

Ziva stared. Her bag fell from her shoulder and landed unceremoniously on the ground. Her eyes widened.

"McGee was kissing Abby?!" she hissed in disbelief, leaping forward.

Tony nodded proudly.

"Right on the mouth…and then the neck…boss broke it up before it got too far, or so I heard, but he's raging mad and the McLoverboy Probie's bearing the brunt of it. Nobody breaks rule 12 with Gibbs' favorite," Tony dished, relishing every moment.

Ziva looked sympathetic.

"Gibbs must be blind not to have noticed Abby and McGee have soft spots for each other," she commented, glancing around for their silver-haired boss.

"Gibbs _is_ blind," Tony pointed out, looking over Ziva's head towards the elevator, "Don't worry about him hearing us, Abby and Jenny are trying to stop him from chopping McGee into tiny Probie Pieces and feeding him to Al-Qaeda."

Ziva looked a little sad.

"Poor Abby," she sighed, "and poor McGee. It is not fair for Gibbs to get angry at them when he did the same thing himself."

Tony was nodding heartily.

"Yes, particularly considering everyone around here is just betting on when the nerd and the vampire queen are going to tie the knot—wait, what? Ziva? Did you just spill something about Gibbs lurid past with our favorite redhead?" Tony asked, sitting straight up.

"I said nothing," Ziva said mystically, titling her head at him quizzically. "What do you mean Abby and McGee will tie the knot? What knot? You think Gibbs will tie McGee up forever?!"

Tony shook his head with a laugh and patted Ziva patronizingly. He spotted Gibbs storming angrily down the hall to the elevator and lowered his voice.

"It means to get married," he whispered.

"ABBY AND MCGEE ARE GETTING MARRIED?!" Ziva yelled in shock.

Gibbs stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wider than they had been.

"THEY'RE WHAT?" he bellowed.

Tony and Ziva blanched.

"RUN MCGEE!" shouted Tony, taking off himself, hoping the doomed Probie heard his warning.

Zia was quick to follow.

* * *

_Alas, some McAbby! A break from the slight (er, strong) Jibbs undercurrent. _


	50. Taste of Your Own Medicine

_A/N: This is the last Idiom :( I suppose after 49 mishaps, it is time to let Ziva have her day in the sun. Happy New Year, everyone;)_

_The Idiom: Taste of Your Own Medicine/High as a Kite_

* * *

Under any other circumstance, Anthony DiNozzo, very special senior agent, would be incredibly pleased to have most of NCIS gathered around him.

But, currently, he was so hyped up on painkillers and cough medicine, he wasn't exactly aware of it. On top having been forced by Gibbs, resident slave driver, to come to work with Swine Flu (other agent's health be damned) he'd had his nose broken by a suspect, and a toe broken when McGee accidentally ran over it.

Poor, poor Tony.

"Someone want to get him a glass of whiskey?" Gibbs growled, glaring pointedly at McGee, who scrambled for Gibbs' drawer where the flask was kept.

Ducky chuckled, patting more blood away from Tony's nose gently. The cut there seemed to bleed nonstop.

"Stop, no," Tony insisted, feebly pushing Ducky's hand away, "Abby? I need those black stilettos back…"

Abby gave Tony a funny look as the rest of the group sniggered.

"What is he talking about?" Jimmy Palmer asked, looking a little frightened.

"Beats me," murmured Abby, shrugging.

"Yes," Tony insisted, "Yes, they were _mine_ first!"

"Perhaps he's a closet metrosexual with a stiletto fetish?" Jenny suggested, leaning back against a filing cabinet with an amused look.

Tony mumbled something loudly.

"Actually, taht would be Palmer," he added in a stage whisper, outting people even in his drugged stupor.

Palmer blushed.

"Shut-up, DiNozzo," growled Gibbs.

"Abs!" Tony insisted.

"She will give you the stilettos back when you're better," Ducky informed the younger man.

Tony smiled with satisfaction and spun in his chair.

"I can't feel my tongue. My lips taste like cherries," he announced solemnly.

Gibbs looked like he was going to smack him. The others were rather amused.

"You are speaking nonsense, Tony," Ziva informed him with a fond look. She patted his head tenderly, glad he was okay.

"That, you little ninja-Mossad-chick," he slurred, wagging a finger at her, attempting to be stern, "is because I am high as an aero-plane," he made a noise like a jet and flew his hand, motioning like a plane.

Ziva laughed at his antics and then stopped in her tracks, her eyes going wide, and pointed at him accusingly. She smiled like a Cheshire cat and cackled loudly.

"Wrong, Tony! You are wrong! Your are not high as an airplane, you are high as a kite! A KITE! You didn't say the idiom correctly!" she cried ecstatically, her eyes glowing with excitement.

Tony looked very confused, trying to work out what was going on over the laughter of his colleagues. Ziva preened excitedly.

"Zeebah?" he asked, slurring, "Did you use a contraption?"

"Ziva used a contraction!" Abby cried, leaping at the Israeli and snatching her into a huge hug.

"Welcome to the English language, my dear," Ducky said warmly, with a laugh.

Gibbs smirked approvingly. Jenny gave Ziva a swift kiss on the cheek and smiled. Ziva beamed in pride. She darted away from them and swooped down in front of Tony, her eyebrow cocked, her arms on either side of his chair.

She knew what she was going to say was exactly right for once.

"How does it feel to get a taste of your own medicine?" she gloated primly. "And I got that one right!"

NCIS broke into applause for their Israeli.

**The End of The Trail (…er, I mean Road)**


End file.
